Parallel Lives
by jakela
Summary: They say we all have a double somewhere in the world. When Finch asks Reese and Carter to impersonate Johann and Josephine Careese, a married couple being pursued by a serial killer, what feelings will emerge?
1. Chapter 1

Parallel Lives – Chapter 1

A/N: They say we all have a double somewhere in the world. When Finch asks Reese and Carter to impersonate Johann and Josephine Careese, a married couple being pursued by a serial killer, what feelings will emerge? AU, due to the premise and some bad science.

In Chapter 1, Finch gets a request from an old friend.

Finch's private jet was starting its descent when he spotted the man's truck – a bright red rectangle standing out against the grays, blacks and silvers of this private Oklahoma airport. In all the years he'd known him, retired Ashbow County Sheriff Will Shannon had always had a red truck – the bigger, the better. It was a quirk that defined the man – a straight arrow law and order type, Shannon had a bit of the romantic in him. It's what had made him such a good cop, the ability to see beyond the rules and regulations.

Years ago, so long ago, that Finch only remembered it in his nightmares, Shannon had done a great service for him – he'd never asked for anything in return, rebuffing any attempts by the reclusive billionaire to repay him, growling, "I didn't do it to get something, I did it because you needed help, dammit!"

Now finally, Shannon had asked for a meeting.

With his usual thoroughness, Finch had compiled an updated file on the older man – while age and a small stroke had slowed him down a bit, his mind was clear and he maintained his ramrod posture with the help of a cane. He had the same wife, same house and same breed of dog. His friends, and his enemies, remained constant.

Despite himself, Finch was intrigued – what could the man possibly want?

They met in the plane's luxurious cabin. As Finch expected, Shannon got right to the point. Someone was killing couples from Ashbow County. Shannon spread out his files, his hands trembling slightly as he reviewed the information. Nine couples had died – all out of state, all in a variety of ways – botulism toxicity, carbon monoxide poisoning, car wreck, drowning, fire, electrocution, exposure, drive-by shooting, auto-erotic asphyxiation – each death distinct and different from the other. The couples had two things in common – they had died on a wedding anniversary trip and one of the spouses worked for Careese Industries.

"I don't understand," Finch said. "Most of these are accidents – tragic, not nefarious."

"Open your eyes, Finch – the killer's working his way through the company hierarchy – the first was a maintenance worker, the last a vice president. The deaths happened once a year give or take – one of the wedding rings is missing in each case. Nobody made the connection because the killings happened all over the country – Texas, Arkansas, even goddammed Alaska and Hawaii." He grunted, "I only stumbled onto it because Lily and I celebrated our 50th the same day as the last victims two years ago."

Shannon explained that his wife Lily, a beginning scrapbooker, had recently started putting together an album of their anniversary party. Indulging her by flipping through the photographs, cards and other memorabilia that she had collected from that event, he noticed that the edition of the local newspaper that chronicled their celebration also noted the passing of the last couple, whose anniversary date was the same as his. Intrigued by the fate of a couple with the same wedding date as his, Shannon began looking at that case and subsequently ferreted out the others. Finally putting two and two together, he knew that trying to convince law enforcement about his suspicions would fall on deaf ears, so he contacted Finch.

"The only other similarity between the couples is that their deaths occurred after they attended some event – a fair, a play – something where they were seen in public. In each case, it was noted how happy the couples were." Shannon smiled grimly at Finch's skeptical look. "And yes, they seemed to be happy in private as well. No hints of stress, unhappy marriages, money problems, etc. I couldn't find any threats, stalking, hate mail or online flaming."

Finch took a closer look at the police files from each case – he didn't ask how Shannon got them. If Shannon was right, the murderer was intelligent, inventive and very patient. A small part of him admired the cool precision of these alleged murders and the mind behind them. "You said the last killings happened two years ago. If the killer strikes every year, why hasn't he struck already?"

Shannon shrugged. "He could be dead, in jail or incapacitated some way, moved on to another target, or perhaps he simply stopped, I don't know. I do know that the president of Caresse Industries and his wife will be in New York City this weekend to celebrate their 15th wedding anniversary. If he, or she, is going to make a move, it will be this weekend."

"All right- if I accept your theory," Finch cocked his eyebrow at Shannon, "What do you want me to do?"

"Two things. First, help me arrange private security for them – it's possible that the killer is someone employed by or affiliated with Careese Industries. New York City is your stomping ground – you'll know who to choose. Second," the older man had a glint in his eyes, "You have connections everywhere – access to information that the rest of us don't – you can find out who this fucker is and help me stop him before he strikes again." He slid a photo to Finch.

Finch's head came up sharply – had the CIA somehow gotten to Shannon – why else would he have a photo of John Reese and Jocelyn Carter?

"Johann and Josephine Careese," Shannon replied to Finch's unspoken question. Harold looked more closely – the man was little older, the woman a little taller, but they were almost dead ringers for his partner and the detective.

They say that everyone has a double someone in the world – Finch sincerely hoped his double was healthier and happier than he was – what would they be like? Would their lives be different or similar? Would they have had the same opportunities, but made different choices? Harold thought about those science fiction stories that had enthralled him as a young boy. If they met, could only one survive? Would they disrupt the space time continuum? Would they form an instant kinship or despise each other on the spot?

An idea began to form in his head, something that another person would have dismissed immediately as outrageous and impossible, but the man who had created the Machine knew that outrageous and impossible simply meant it hadn't been tried yet. Nodding to Shannon, he sent two quick texts from his handheld. "I'll attend to it – thank you for allowing me to repay a little of the debt I owe you."

Shannon shook his head. "I told you –," he stood, his back to Finch. "Just do what you can. Josie's first husband was one of my deputies, a good cop and an even better man. He was killed in the line of duty when their son was three years old – I'll be damned," his voice cracked suddenly, "if he loses both of his parents. Thank you, Harold." He stepped off the plane, the sound of his cane fading into the deepening evening shadows.

A/N: In Chapter 2, we get an introduction to the mind of a killer, and in Chapter 3, Harold reveals his plan to John and Joss.


	2. Chapter 2

Parallel Lives – Chapter 2

A/N: A brief introduction to the mind of a killer.

The first killings were an accident. As least that's what he told himself. He'd picked up the suspect jar of preserves from the canning competition's discard pile at the state fair, not really meaning to do anything with it, intrigued by the thought of something so innocuous being the cause of death and destruction.

A snafu with his credentials delayed his entrance into the VIP section of the tent, and while he waited for a new badge to be issued, he watched the line of people waiting to get into general admission. A man in a Careese Industries t-shirt drew his attention. Listening to the man's conversation with the couple directly behind him, he learned that the man was attending the fair with his wife, that the next day was his anniversary and that they would be celebrating it at the remote cabin where they had spent their honeymoon.

A screeching sound alerted the people in line that the police barriers had been pushed back and that they could enter the tent. Walking casually over to the group – he blended in easily – he slipped the jar into an open pocket of the man's backpack and then drifted away as the crowd surged forward.

Days later, when he was searching for articles online about the fair, he was stunned to find out that the couple had succumbed to botulism toxicity, and the culprit was that jar of preserves. Fair officials were stumbling over themselves to explain how this could have happened, the couple's family was threatening to sue, and a state legislator held a news conference announcing his plans for new regulations. Hundreds of jars of canned goods were being returned by fearful fairgoers and the hapless person who had created the tainted food was besieged by reporters and had received several death threats, her home pelted with rotten fruit.

All that, over a little jar of preserves.

He'd been careful to keep his fingerprints off the jar, handling it with a handkerchief. The deaths had occurred miles from the fair, and he'd never spoken to the couple. Sitting in his home office, two states away, a thrill ran through him.

It was perfect.

Approximately a year later, he did the same thing again, selecting a different method. And again, the crime was perfect, no one suspected him. Again and again until two years ago – then he stopped.

He stopped because of Josephine Careese. She had smiled at him, touched his hand, and that smile and that touch had been enough for a very long time, but now the memory was fading and he needed something else, something more to keep him from taking the next step.

The sound of her laughter drew him forward, her fate, and the fate of her husband in her small, slender hands.

A/N: In chapter 3, Finch decides to watch and not listen.


	3. Chapter 3

Parallel Lives Chapter 3

A/N: I split chapter 3 in two. In this short chapter, Harold decides to watch, but not listen.

Harold's plane arrived at the private airport just outside Manhattan right on time. Getting out of his chauffeured car two blocks from the diner, he actually enjoyed walking in the cool night air. Even in a private jet, there were still things that made travelling uncomfortable, especially for someone with his injuries. The chance to stretch his legs, even for a few minutes, gave him time to think before what was sure to be an intense meeting with John Reese and Detective Carter.

As Harold approached the diner, he paused for a moment, concealed by a construction passageway. Knowing he could blame a few minutes tardiness on the evening traffic, he shut off his phone.

He needed to listen with his eyes.

Harold watched John Reese. He noted how his sharp features softened, just a little, when Detective Carter strode up the sidewalk, her raven locks rippling in the light breeze. He noted how Reese's hand lingered on the small of her back as he guided her into the empty diner. He noted how Reese pulled the ever present crossword puzzle out her jacket pocket without her noticing it, slipping it into his own jacket pocket, his fingers securing the torn newspaper like it was a piece of priceless ancient vellum.

Harold watched Detective Carter. He noted how she gave Reese a curt little nod when she saw him outside the diner, her eyes flowing over his lanky form. He noted how her fingertips grazed his when he passed the cream to her for her coffee. He noted how she somehow managed to glare and smile at Reese at the same time.

Harold watched how they leaned ever so slightly towards each other, the language of smirks, sidelong glances and just-barely-there touches saying so much more than all those many phone conversations between the two of them, so many that sometimes he felt like an exasperated parent, dealing with adolescents who needed to have their phone privileges revoked for a week, so that they would actually read something for a change.

He wondered if he turned around and left, how long it would be until they actually missed him.

He wondered if they knew how much they cared for one another, if they even admitted it to themselves, late at night, after that last phone call of the day.

He wondered if what he was going to ask them to do would bring them together or tear them apart.

Perhaps it would do both.

He crossed the street and entered the diner.

A/N: In the next chapter, Finch tells John and Joss about their new assignment.


	4. Chapter 4

Parallel Lives – Chapter 4

A/N: Finch tells John and Joss about their new assignment. This chapter is primarily from Joss' POV; the next chapter will cover Reese's reaction.

"You want us to do WHAT?!" John and Joss gaped at Finch in astonishment.

Finch gazed at them coolly. "As I said, I want you to attend the gala at the _New_ New York City Opera Saturday night as Johann and Josephine Careese. If Sheriff Shannon is wrong, you'll have a pleasant evening. If he's right, you'll apprehend someone who's murdered 18 people."

"It's not just the opera," Joss said, her voice low. "You said that the deaths occur _after_ the couple attends a public event, either while they're traveling to, or at, their next destination. That means…," she raised her eyebrows at Finch.

The older man nodded. "Yes, you may need to spend the night together in the Careese's hotel room since we don't know when the murderer will strike. At this point they could be anyone, so you'll have to be convincing, at least in public, as hus –"

Forcing images of Joss, a hotel room and a king-size bed from his mind, Reese cut Finch off. "We get it, Finch."

The 'newlywed' couple's eyes met for a moment, then skittered away from each other, their posture suddenly stiff and formal, as though they had never met.

There was a long uncomfortable silence.

Finally, Reese nodded. His features assumed their usual deadpan exterior, which meant he was focused on the mission, already planning what to do next. Joss' face betrayed a myriad of emotions – skepticism, anger and finally curiosity. Sighing, she said, "What makes you think we can pass ourselves off as them?"

Finch spread photographs out on the table. "The resemblance is really quite extraordinary."

"Yes," Joss said waspishly, "if it was late at night and you'd been drinking." She grimaced – someone was trying to kill these people and she was letting her concerns, her fears, her _feelings_, get the best of her. Spending the night with John Reese, pretending to be his wife…

Shaking her head, she looked at the array of photos.

She looks like me, Joss thought, but she's not like me. I'm a New York City cop, she's a rich Midwestern housewife – we have nothing in common.

And yet…she wore the same pair of earrings in almost every photograph – true, they were multi-carat diamonds rather than silver hoops, but it indicated that Josephine didn't like to waste time getting ready in the morning. Her clothes – clean, simple. She didn't mind getting them dirty either - in a church kitchen, a community garden or a ground breaking ceremony, Josephine Careese just rolled up her sleeves and jumped right in.

And the wedding ring - a gold band. Joss had never gotten an engagement ring – they couldn't afford it and everyone knew she was taken – but Josephine didn't have one either. Her simple ring was the same design as her husband's.

Joss turned her attention to Johann Careese. He was older than John, grayer, not as thin, but just as handsome and alluring. What has it been like to be married to this man? What moments of joy, and sadness would they have shared over the years? Was he the same magnificent pain in the ass as her John – Joss corrected herself, as John Reese was?

She picked up one of the photos, looking at it intently – it was a candid shot at some event – the Careeses had their arms around each other, laughing at some private joke between the two of them. Joss remembered those moments with her late husband – he would always whisper in her ear, 'I can't wait to get you home tonight' – even if they usually fell into bed so exhausted all they could do was hold each other. She understood what he'd meant - it wasn't sex, it was just being there for each other, being together.

They looked so relaxed and happy – Joss stole a look at Reese through her lowered eyelashes. The only time she had ever seen him even close to something like this was in the photograph with Jessica. We've all lost so much she thought, even Finch, who she barely knew – he had to have lost something too, or he wouldn't be here.

Brushing a non-existent strand of hair away from her face while her eyes blinked rapidly, Joss forced herself to pay attention to Finch as he ran through some basic info about the Careeses.

Sixteen years ago, when Johann Careese announced the building of the first factory in Ashbow County in forty years, the local media went wild trying to learn more about the enigmatic bachelor. Newspaper columnist Josephine Cotter somehow managed to get an exclusive interview with him when all the others had failed. The attraction between the widow and the wealthy industrialist was immediate and intense. They married a year later. Johann had adopted Josephine's son from her first marriage and they had a twelve year old boy and twin eight year old girls. Careese Industries currently employed over 100,000 people in Oklahoma, Kansas and Missouri with 60,000 employees at the main plant in Ashbow, the county seat.

"From all accounts it's a good marriage," Finch concluded. "Sheriff Shannon was good friends with Josephine's late parents, and he's godfather to Josephine's oldest son, Tyler."

Reese watched Joss closely. The woman of a million questions was silent, staring at that photograph. He took it out of her hand, his fingers brushing hers. "If he tries to resist, I'll let you take the first shot."

"After an evening in high heels, I'll be ready to shoot _someone_." She speared both men with her gaze, but she was smiling. Joss leaned forward, signaling her engagement. "Let's talk through what we have to do – this shindig is less than 48 hours away."

Finch's fingers flew over his tablet. "Here's the layout of the opera house." They spent the next few hours reviewing the case files and talking through the things they felt most comfortable with, logistics and weapons.

Satisfied with what they could get electronically, Reese stood up to do a late night tour of the facility, giving Finch a pointed look. Finch knew he needed to be prepared to answer questions about this assignment that Reese had refrained from asking while they were with the detective.

Joss suddenly checked her pockets, clicked her fingers. "Hand it over, smartass."

Reese looked at the crossword puzzle – a slow smile spread over his face. "You haven't updated it since yesterday, Joss."

Joss shrugged. "So? I'll finish it this morning."

"Sorry, Detective. You know the rules – 24 hours, then you pass it over." He headed out the door.

She called out after him. "Just don't get blood on it!"

Joss sat next to Finch. She wanted to do a review of the police detail at the gala, making sure none of the officers assigned knew her. Accessing the police department's servers, Finch deftly moved two officers to other assignments – fortunately New York City always had more than one 'event of the century' going on at the same time – the reassigned patrolmen would barely notice the change.

She cocked her head at the older man. "Finch, we need to talk about the elephant in the room." Harold stared at her blankly, stalling for time. "I don't understand what you mean, Detective – I've told you everything I know."

"Finch," she leaned towards him, her scent still light and fresh after a twenty hour workday. "You forgot the most important thing – what the hell am I going to wear?"

They sat there for the next hour, going over designs, colors and fabric choices. Finch made a phone call, giving Joss an address and a time for an early morning appointment.

She stood to go, then tilted her head at him. "This is important to you, isn't it?"

"They're all important, Detective. As a police officer, you know that better than I."

"Personally important."

Harold looked into her dark brown eyes. There was no judgment or speculation. For a moment he wanted to tell her the story – he might even tell her the truth.

His shoulders sagged with the relief that would bring.

He adjusted his glasses."Yes, Detective, it is."

She nodded, and vanished into the night.

A/N: Next, John's reaction to Finch's assignment.


	5. Chapter 5

Parallel Lives – Chapter 5

A/N: This chapter covers John's reaction to Finch's assignment. As you might expect, John's reaction is a little more intense.

The _New_ New York City Opera's mission was to make opera popular and accessible to everyone. Via opera flash mobs, hip hoperas and modern works intermixed with the classics, they had created a buzz that was getting hard to ignore. When they burst into the nation's consciousness with an original opera that was a thinly veiled tale about three television reality show sisters, they showed that sex tapes, 72 day marriages and tons of plastic surgery could provide as much drama as some traditional opuses.

Every night the audience got to decide how the sisters would meet their end, including a shark tank, trampling by a crowd chasing after the next flavor of the month, suffocation from too much Botox and the worst fate, dying from not being famous anymore.

At first the sisters threatened to sue, but when the opera was featured on the nightly entertainment shows, they started showing up for performances, extending their fifteen minutes of fame.

Saturday's gala was a fundraiser for a national community garden initiative – so many operas had pivotal scenes in gardens, balconies and courtyards - it was a perfect fit for bored rich people looking for a new trendy cause.

The sisters announced they were attending, but when they found out they actually had to pay for their tickets, they suddenly had another commitment.

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Reese found three places to hide weapons in the private box that the Careeses had reserved for the gala. They wouldn't be able to bring weapons into the opera house as the married couple, so everything had to be hidden before the performance. Joss would need at least two weapons, a small gun for her purse and another gun that could be strapped to her thigh.

He imagined running his fingers slowly up her leg as he attached the holster to her thigh, caressing the soft skin over her taut muscles as he adjusted the fit to her specifications. Her hand would first rest on his shoulder, then in his hair, finally lifting his chin as she asked him to –

Reese closed his eyes. Clearing his mind, he finished his survey of the opera house, then slipped out into the cool early morning air.

In the past, he had fucked his way across continents, women falling into his hands like overripe fruit – easily consumed, but with a bitter aftertaste. Even when he was on the streets, living in the bottom of a bottle, sometimes he woke up to another broken soul, their grimy limbs entwined. Since he had begun working with Finch, opportunities presented themselves everywhere – a certain smile, a wandering hand, sometimes a direct invitation – it would have been easy, but he did nothing.

There was only one woman he wanted, and he wanted more than just sharing a bed with her. And now, like those ancient tales that Finch read in Greek and Latin, the gods had given him what he wished for, in their own capricious way.

They showed him what a man who looked like him had, with a woman who looked like her – a home, a family, a _life_.

They said he could have the woman he wanted:

He could be with her – but only for a night.

He could touch her, hold her, kiss her – but only in public.

He could share a hotel room with her – but not share a bed.

He could look, he could touch, he could be with her, but he couldn't _have_ her.

Reese smiled grimly – somewhere, the gods were laughing.

He swept into the one 24 hour coffee shop that Finch only complained mildly about. As he waited for his order, he pulled the crossword puzzle out of his pocket.

In one of his earliest cases with Finch, he had left a young girl named Theresa wrapped in his jacket for Joss to pick up in Washington Square. There was a newspaper crossword puzzle in one of the pockets – he didn't remember why he put the paper there – maybe he meant to write down a number or wrap something in it – but Joss mentioned it during one of their cat and mouse calls, trying to learn more about him.

He found out that she did the hardest crossword puzzle, tearing it out every Saturday, carrying it around all week, filling it out as she went about her day. Intrigued, he began looking at the clues, using the week's puzzle as an excuse to talk to her. When he was recuperating from being shot by Snow's partner, he began doing the puzzles in earnest, starting with Monday's, the easiest puzzle, and quickly making his way to Saturday's.

Before he met with Joss at the coffee shop he carefully folded and affixed that Saturday's puzzle to the back of the phone. If she accepted the phone, she accepted what he and Harold were doing. If she accepted the puzzle, she accepted _him_, at least in some small way. He walked quickly out of the coffee shop, not looking back.

The next day, she passed the puzzle back to him.

Over time they worked out a system where they would pass the puzzle back and forth between the two of them, competing to see who could complete it out first that week. The loser would buy the winner coffee and Saturday's edition of the newspaper.

She made fun of his handwriting, calling it chicken scratch, a childlike scrawl or his favorite, cave markings. He scoffed about her refusal to use anything else but an old mechanical pencil to fill it out, going on eBay to find the lead refills. They both accused each other of cheating – and they did, he with Finch for obscure literary terms, she with her son for pop culture references.

Even when they were at odds with each other, the puzzle went back and forth, sometimes with a cutting remark, sometimes in silence, but it went back and forth.

So during those terrible days after Szymanski was shot, and she refused to take his calls, he thought she would still pass the puzzle to him, that he would still see her, could still talk to her. When she didn't, when he realized she had cut him off completely, his need, his yearning for her shocked him.

He put the paper back in his pocket, picked up the order and headed to the library.

As he walked in, Finch was talking urgently in Italian to some poor hapless clerk in Milan. Every screen had images of evening gowns, shoes and accessories. Swatches of fabric littered the table and floor. Finally Finch signed off in irritation from his conversation. He picked up two swatches and rubbed them absently between his fingers.

Reese placed Finch's tea on the table. "Would you prefer to be alone, Finch?"

Finch ignored the jibe. "Here is the final design for Detective Carter's dress per her instructions. She's having the body scan now to finalize the measurements."

Reese nodded – the dress was simple, sleeveless with a fitted bodice and a gently flared skirt. "She'll be able to run and gun if needed. What's the problem?"

"The color she selected – it's not available– I can't reach her while she's in the chamber and we need a choice _now_ or the dress won't be finished in time. He laid a fabric swatch against Joss' face on one of the screens. "Black?"

"Boring."

"Red?"

"The new black – also boring."

"True – It's not a State of the Union address. What would you suggest, Mr. Reese?"

"Something… special." Reese's voice was even softer than normal, almost wistful.

Suddenly Finch keyed in a series of numbers. He picked up his tea, sniffing it. "Caffeineteria? You should have gone to-"

"Care to share, Harold?"

"No." Finch sipped his tea.

"She _is_ going to shoot you."

Finch smiled. "Only after she shoots you first, Mr. Reese, only after she shoots you. What did you find out at the opera house?"

"What we expected - plenty of places to hide, multiple access points and minimal security. If he's smart, he'll come after us there." Reese didn't need to add that if the situation was reversed, that's what he would do.

Finch nodded. "Well, hopefully he'll stay true to form and attempt to murder you in the limousine or at the hotel."

They went through the personnel records at the opera house, the limo company and the hotel, checking for anything unusual. The lists had already been passed on to Fusco, Finch's private security company and Shannon. John and Joss would be reviewing additional information about the Careeses and also familiarizing themselves with the guest list at the gala.

"Does the Sheriff know about your 'attack of the doppelgangers' plan?"

"I'm speaking with him in a few minutes." Finch had also grudgingly admitted he was having trouble breaking through Careese Industries' firewalls. "His former second in command is head of security at the Ashbow plant. If necessary, perhaps the Sheriff can persuade him to help us."

Reese stood, knowing that Harold needed to have this conversation with Shannon in private. "I'll be checking out the hotel."

Finch swiveled his chair around, facing Reese. "I appreciated your restraint during our meeting with Detective Carter, John."

"You mean not saying that this could be a giant cluster fuck?" He let the anger, anger at Johann Careese, anger at Will Shannon, anger at Finch, anger at himself rise to the surface. Reese loomed over the older man, slamming Finch's chair back against the desk. "This has nothing to do with the numbers. Either your machine has failed or Nothing. Is. Going. To. Happen."

A small part of him said, you've been up for over 24 hours, you have hours of work ahead of you, but he couldn't stop himself. "You've placed your personal needs above our mission, _Harold_."

Finch's blue eyes flashed. "As though you never have, _John_. I seem to recall your actions with Marshall Jennings as being particularly personal." His eyes softened. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't –"

Reese stepped away, turning his back on Harold. I could lose her over this, he thought. I have so little of her now. If she sensed, if she _knew_…

He closed his eyes, listening to Harold's voice. "Detective Carter asked me if this case was personally important to me – I surprised myself, I actually told her that it was. As I'm sure you remember, I was extremely angry at her for turning you over to Agent Snow. I couldn't understand how you could forgive her so readily after she almost got you killed. And then, I was shocked in her absolute faith in you to get her son back after what happened with Detective Szymanski."

Reese turned back to him. "What are you saying, Harold?"

"That friendship, true friendship never really dies. Love does, lust certainly does, but friendship endures. It always finds its way back, despite what we sometimes do to one another."

Reese nodded, "I'll see you in a couple of hours."

He stepped out in the bright sunshine. Ironically, the one person he'd want to talk to about Finch's musings, was the one person he couldn't.

The gods were definitely laughing.

A/N: In the next chapter, Finch has a brief conversation with Sheriff Shannon, and in the following chapter, we learn more about our killer and spend a little time with the Careeses.


	6. Chapter 6

Parallel Lives – Chapter 6

A/N: In this short chapter, Finch gives Sheriff Shannon an update.

Harold Finch was tired. He hadn't slept in over 24 hours, his pain medication had worn off a long time ago and his body was screaming for relief. How else could he explain his actions? Wanting to confide in Jocelyn Carter, his flash of anger at John Reese and even more upsetting, his clumsy attempt to assure his partner that his relationship with the detective wouldn't be irrevocably harmed by this assignment.

The Machine was never wrong – the killer, whoever they were, hadn't decided yet if they were going to kill the Careeses – John and the detective could go through this whole charade for nothing. He imagined a nightmare scenario, a macabre Same Time, Next Year*, where the two would pretend to be the Careeses for endless anniversaries, wondering if this was the year someone would try to murder them.

Harold sighed. He really needed to lie down for a while.

Will Shannon looked as tired as he did when he appeared on screen. When Harold attempted to tell him about the issue he was having trying to access Careese Industries servers, Shannon waved him off. "Out with it, Finch. What do you really want to talk about?"

Harold ran through his plan. He was irritated when Shannon's bark of laughter lanced across the screen, so loud that Shannon's dog, Bunk, curled up in the easy chair in the retired sheriff's home office, lifted his head curiously.

"I assure you, Sheriff, I am quite serious about this."

"Oh, I know you are, Finch. I learned a long time ago not to be surprised by anything from you, but I have to admit you've outdone yourself. Show me."

Harold first brought up a photo of Jocelyn Carter. Shannon's face softened. "Damn. She really looks like Josie. A NYPD detective - impressive." His voice sharpened. "Her choice? She wasn't _persuaded_ to do this?"

"Her choice, Sheriff." Harold then brought up a photo of Reese.

Shannon grunted. "What does he do?"

"He works for me."

"That's it?"

"That's all you need to know, Sheriff. He works for me." Harold then brought up a photo of John and Detective Carter together.

Shannon nodded, with a ghost of a smile. "They'll do." His fingers tapped his keyboard. "Check that file. You have access to Careese Industries' personnel records for the next four hours. I've already looked at them – nothing unusual."

They talked through several other items, then Harold asked before they signed off, "What are you planning on telling the Careeses?"

"Josie – nothing. I don't want her to worry. Careese," Shannon's mouth turned down slightly, "I'll talk to him tonight."

Harold raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem with Johann Careese I should know about?"

"No –economically, his company saved the county…and he's been a good husband and father."

Harold waited.

"He's a smug arrogant bastard."

Harold thought about his own smug arrogant bastard, trying not to smile. "It doesn't mean he's not a good man, Will."

Shannon grunted again.

"I'll contact you this after-"

"Buy her dinner, Harold…When this is over, buy her dinner. She's too thin…they both are."

"I will, Sheriff."

They signed off.

A/N: *Same Time, Next Year was a 70's Broadway play and film about a man and a woman who cheat on their spouses one day, every year, for 24 years.

Next, we learn what drove our murderer to begin his killing spree and we spend a little time with the Careeses.


	7. Chapter 7

Parallel Lives – Chapter 7

A/N: In this chapter, we learn what drove our murderer to kill and we witness a moment between the Careeses.

They say behind every great man is a great woman, and while the killer didn't necessarily consider himself a great man, he did consider Josephine Careese a great woman.

She'd given him everything – a purpose, a career, a future.

As he watched Josie across the auditorium he thought back to the first time he met her.

Josephine Cotter had a column called _Josie's Posies_ in the _Ashbow Star_. She had developed a devoted following, primarily because you never knew what she was going to write about – one week the column would bring you to tears, the next week you would be laughing uncontrollably. She was passionate about helping folks reach their potential, as dozens of people across Ashbow County could attest to. Scholarships, grants, small business loans, job interviews - Josie knew that a properly filled out form or a simple introduction to the right person could make a profound change in someone's life.

Eighteen years ago, he was a technical writer who created puzzles in his spare time when Josie attended a crossword puzzle tournament at the Ashbow Senior Citizen Center. She had done her homework and wasn't condescending or looking for some weird angle with the contestants. The respect and interest she showed was getting her wonderful information and some great quotes. She was intelligent, funny and beautiful.

Holding his breath, he waited for her to approach him. She sat with him for two hours after the tournament ended learning about how he put his puzzles together. His crossword puzzles were fun, full of pop culture references and quirky, sometimes slightly risqué themes. He also included several clues in some of the answers that could be used to solve another puzzle - a puzzle within a puzzle. She was impressed with the level of detail he put into his creations – as a technical writer he'd been exposed to all sorts of things, so his works were informative as well as entertaining.

The column about the tournament was well received and for once people noticed him, if only for a day or two.

A week later, she invited him out for coffee. He got there early, trying to keep from smiling too widely as she bustled into the diner, waving a bunch of papers. A small chain of weeklies was looking for someone to create crossword and other puzzles for them.

"It's perfect for you," she said. "They want someone who knows the classic references, can mix in pop culture and will break the rules occasionally." She handed him the documentation.

He got the job. To thank her, he created a special puzzle with the name Josephine in the center. He watched her hang it in her tiny cube at the paper.

Over the next two years, his puzzles slowly took off, helped in no small way by his willingness to attend tournaments all over the country. He wasn't charismatic, but he was available, he was willing to answer questions and he was non-threatening, blending in so easily, it was hard to describe him.

During an interview at a local radio station, after the snarky host found out he was single, from Oklahoma and never went to college, he was introduced as being modest in looks, brains and ambition. At first he was angry, but when he broke the windows and slashed the tires of the host's car, and nobody suspected him, he realized the ability to blend in easily was an advantage.

When the _Star_ finally started printing his puzzles, Josie sent him a congratulatory note. He hung it on the wall over the desk in his apartment.

After Deputy Cotter was killed, Josie and her little boy had moved in with her parents, Paul and Olivia. Their modest home was across the street from a park, so it wasn't unusual to see cars there parked in the evening. Sometimes he would watch their house, hoping for a glimpse of her. One evening she slipped out into the darkness, the curves of her body just visible under her long nightgown as she put several envelopes in the mail box. It was just for a few seconds, but it took his breath away.

Touching himself tonight wouldn't be enough. He drove two towns over to a little house he'd overheard the men at the barber shop talk about. The woman didn't look anything like Josie, but he closed his eyes and sank into her body, biting his lip when he came to keep from shouting out her name.

When he was asked why he still lived in Oklahoma, his reply was simple – it was his home.

A home he intended to make with Josie.

His editor tracked him down during a three day crossword puzzle tournament in Omaha. He had a contract for a series of books of his puzzles. Finally, he had a future, something he could offer Josie.

When he returned to Ashbow, the town was buzzing with the announcement of the new plant. Josie's interview with Johann Careese was on the front page of the _Star_. As he expected, she had done a fantastic job. There was a news conference about the plant at city hall that afternoon. The auditorium was almost full, but he managed to find a seat in the back. Josie was standing near the stage, surrounded by people congratulating her on the article. He decided that he would approach her after the conference, ask her out to dinner - they both had something to celebrate.

He was rehearsing in his mind what he would say to her when Johann Careese walked on stage. This was not a man who blended in. Tall, handsome, well dressed and with a voice that was soft, yet commanding, every eye in the place was upon him. Despite himself, he was drawn in, admiring the way Careese was able to control the news conference, charming some questioners, while deflecting others. It was clear that this was not someone who suffered fools gladly – the fact that he had chosen Josie to interview him indicated his respect for her talents. The man had clearly done his homework in selecting her.

When the other members of his team stood up to speak, he noticed that Careese trained his startling gray eyes for a long moment on Josie, but then returned his attention to the presenters; Josie was focused on the other presenters, oblivious to his laser stare. He expected that – Josie was beautiful – men looked at her all the time. What he didn't expect after the conference, was Careese gracefully leaping off the stage, crossing the room and touching her arm.

He spoke to her. Somehow Josie managed to glare and smile at him at the same time. With a sickening feeling, the killer realized she was attracted to him.

News of the romance between the industrialist and the columnist spread like wildfire through Ashbow County. There was gossip, speculation and outright bets as to where the romance would go, but as the months went on and they continued to see each other, those voices became less and less.

The killer was tempted to show his displeasure, but he'd made a decision a long time ago not to do anything malicious in Oklahoma. Besides, he still had hope the romance would die. When his first book came out, Josie called him to offer her congratulations. He invited her to lunch. When he told her he owed it all to her, she patted his hand, telling him it was due to his hard work.

Basking in her smile, it was like Careese never existed.

Two days later, she flew to New York City and Careese proposed to her. A year to the day of their first meeting they were married.

That morning the killer flew to Oklahoma City. The madam that he met with nodded when he described what he wanted. The high class call girl was smart, beautiful. She introduced herself as Josephine. They just talked the first time they met. When he went back the next month, she kissed him. The third month she took him into her body.

The killer still had hope – Josie would wake up and come to her senses, Careese would get bored with small town life.

He slipped the tainted preserves in the backpack the day after their son was born.

Once a month he went to Oklahoma City. She called herself Josie now. She dressed like her. She smelled like her. She would place photos of Josie's children on her mantel before he arrived. One night she asked him if he wanted to be called Johann – he slapped her and she never asked it again.

Once a year he killed a happy couple. His research was meticulous, helped by the growth of the Internet and social media. It was so easy to find out when someone's anniversary was, where they were spending it. He was able to manipulate the scheduling of crossword puzzle tournaments near, but not too near, where the couples were staying, in case anyone noticed his presence in the area. Use of different methods to dispatch his victims avoided creating a pattern that law enforcement might pick up on.

His only indulgence was the week he carried out their deaths, the Saturday crossword puzzle included their first names in the answers. Most of the names were innocuous - a Debbie or a Steve. If the name was unusual – there was an Ezekiel, for God's sake – he tied it to a specific reference and connected it to the theme of the puzzle so that it wouldn't stand out.

Several couples died on Saturday – knowing they were breathing their last breaths while others were eagerly filling in their names was thrilling.

Two years ago, Josie asked him to contribute to a new scholarship fund for Ashbow County high school students. Recognizing that not everyone wants to go to college, this fund helped students who wanted to go to technical school, earn certificates or learn a specific skill that would help them in their careers. When Josie introduced him at the ceremony, she talked about how they met, how intelligent he was and how proud she was of his achievements.

She smiled and hugged him in front of the whole crowd, including her husband.

It was enough. He withdrew the puzzle with their names, telling his editor that it was flawed, substituting another puzzle. He contacted his Josie in Oklahoma City. When he arrived at her apartment, he pulled her into his arms and held her for a long time.

The feeling stayed away for a year, but he could feel it lurking, trying to break through. He needed something else from Josie, something to keep the feeling away again.

Today was the annual announcement of this year's scholarships. Perhaps he could spend some time with her after today's event. He listened as she told one of the attendees that Johann was delayed and that she didn't expect him to attend today's ceremony. Besides, Josie laughed, I'll see enough of him this weekend as she filled in her friend about their plans. The two women laughed with the affection and exasperation of long time marrieds, trading stories about their husbands.

The committee co-chairs took the stage. He moved next to Josie. She smiled, touched his hand. As she leaned over to speak to him, a shadow fell across them.

Johann Careese.

Josie turned from him, whatever she was planning to say forgotten.

After the ceremony, the crowd milled about chatting and enjoying the refreshments. The Careeses walked out of the auditorium. He saw them enter one of the empty offices.

He followed them. Hiding behind a rack of folding chairs, he could just see them standing close together.

They talked quietly for a few moments. Then Careese ran his hand down her arm, caressing her wrist with his long fingers. He slowly brought it to his lips, kissing the spot where the veins disappeared into the palm of her hand. His eyes were closed, and the killer knew that he was drinking in her scent, the heat of her body, the pulse of her heartbeat against his strong mouth.

Josephine took a sharp breath, her lips parting as her husband kissed her wrist.

The couple's eyes met and then they stepped apart. Careese walked out of the building while Josie returned to the auditorium.

It was the most sensual, erotic thing he had ever seen.

The killer knew that after the gala Saturday night Careese would be buried deep inside Josie, that he would take her over and over again, that she would spread her legs, wantonly, greedily for his cock.

He also knew that even if by some miracle, some alchemy Josie came willingly to his bed, if somehow he had claimed her before Johann Careese came to town, she would never respond to him that way, never be the wanton, greedy creature that she was with Careese, never stand in an empty office, her breath taken away by a mere kiss on the wrist.

He might have borne it if they had settled into the mediocrity of most marriages, the date nights, the obligatory once a week fuck, the repetitive arguments and complaints, but not this, not a passion that seemed to have grown rather than diminished.

He wanted to kill it.

She had chosen. And now, so would he.

A/N: Next, Joss gets naked with one man, has a drink with another and receives a late night visit from a third.


	8. Chapter 8

Parallel Lives – Chapter 8

A/N: In this chapter, Joss gets naked with one man, has a drink with another and gets a late night visit from a third.

Joss stood in a windowless chamber, naked, while lasers streamed over her body. Caps had been placed over her eyes to protect them from the light – she used all her years of dance training to keep from tripping as a voice told her to take different positions. "You're doing fine, just a few minutes more."

"You sure this won't wind up on You Tube?"

He laughed, "No – as you know, we're very discreet."

And how – the address Finch had given her was a flower shop. Exiting through the back, she went through three more buildings, passing through several checkpoints until she got to their building. The Hawaiian shirts and ping pong tables belied the seriousness of their operation. These guys – she called them Finch's Nerd Herd - knew what they were doing.

The voice now directed her to lean against the wall and stretch out her hands, telling her to turn them, wiggle her fingers, etc. "Mr. Wren," – he used one of Finch's aliases – "said you were a top priority – we wouldn't be in business very long if we abused our clients' trust."

Top priority – Joss used that to probe a little. "Who do you normally get here?"

"For this, politicians mostly – they want to look good in their suits, but going to a designer messes up the 'whole man of the people' image – it's kind of fun sometimes, to see those big wigs stumbling around…ok, hands are done – stretch out your right foot – great – you're right up there with the guy we had here a few months ago."

Joss cocked an eyebrow. "Let me guess, tall, dark haired, permanent smirk on his face?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

"Unfortunately." She pushed the image of a naked John Reese out of her mind.

"We did a whole bunch of suits and a tux for him – cut special for his guns and shit."

That explained it – not only did Reese's suits fit magnificently, they never had the telltale bulge of a gun, adding to his arrogant persona. "Smartass," she muttered a little too loud.

The voice laughed again. "Sounds like you let him get on your nerves a lot – be careful – I had one like that – I married her six months ago – best thing I ever did….ok, let me run a few calculations…we're done. You can take the eyecaps off and get dressed."

A few minutes later Joss stepped into the antechamber. The voice – a dreadlocked young man with tattooed sleeves on both arms - showed her how the data was being fed into a program that would cut her dress. "We'll do it three times, first to create a pattern, then on muslin and finally on the material you selected. The dress will fit you perfectly. A member of our staff will personally deliver the dress tomorrow afternoon and our Glam Squad will help you get ready."

Joss shook his hand. "Thanks for making being naked with total stranger as easy as possible."

The young man laughed again. "No problem – hey," he said as Joss opened the door, "you going to this thing with the smartass tomorrow?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Maybe's he's a smartass because he's trying to get your attention."

"No – he's a smartass, because he's a Smart. Ass." She smiled, "Thanks again."

This time Joss went through another set of checkpoints, finally exiting via a coffee shop. Sipping her latte, she made it to the office with plenty of time to spare, placing a coffee and donut on the desk of her surprised partner. "What's with you," Fusco asked suspiciously.

"Nothing – I just want to get going." She jumped into work with even more than her usual gusto, pushing away the thoughts that had arisen from her conversation with the young man. The day was so busy, it wasn't until late afternoon that she realized she hadn't heard from Reese. He usually called her at least half a dozen times already, asking for information, giving unsolicited comments on one of her cases, or just saying something to piss her off.

He'd called Fusco – he could tell by her partner's lowered voice and focused expression. You're going to be with him for hours tomorrow, she told herself, but she was struck with how much those aggravating calls were a part of her day now, how much she missed them.

John Reese was not a man of many words, but he had been positively monosyllabic at the diner last night. He said more about the crossword puzzle than this assignment which could get them both killed. Was the idea of spending an evening and possibly a night with her so abhorrent?

Or maybe he just didn't care – maybe he'd had so many women that the thought of holding her, kissing her was no big deal.

Snap out of it, Jocelyn, she told herself. This isn't about you or him, it's about helping people. Being a Frazzled Franny – the title of one of her son's favorite books as a little boy about a girl who worried about everything - isn't going to make the situation any better.

"Great work, Detective," Assistant DA Adam Bordeaux' deep voice carried across the room as he stopped by her desk. "I wasn't expecting this until the middle of next week at the latest…I do have a few questions though. Can you meet me in the conference room?" He smiled at her concerned expression. "Nothing's wrong, I just need to make sure I have all the facts before I meet with the defense next week."

"Sure, two minutes?" Trying not to roll her eyes at two patrolwomen pretending to swoon as Bordeaux left the detectives' bullpen, Joss pulled together her notebook and some additional files for the meeting with Bordeaux.

Fusco waggled his eyebrows at her.

"He just wants to talk about the case, Fusco."

"Carter, if you think Mr. Tall, Dark and Deep Voice came all the way down to this pit to talk about a case, you need to turn in your badge. He's been circling you like a vulture for months."

"Nice image, Fusco. Now I know why you're divorced."

Joss spent the next hour going over the case files with Bordeaux. She tried to ignore the steady stream of plainsclothed and uniformed police officers wandering by the conference room windows, telling herself sourly who knew that the file cabinets at the end of the hall contained so much critical information?

Adam Bordeaux was well over six feet tall, with piercing, almost jet black eyes and beautiful dark brown skin. His austere, narrow face was offset by full, sensuous lips. He was an exceedingly attractive man, sharp and funny, his deep voice echoing in the conference room.

Bordeaux closed his briefcase. "Thanks, you saved me a long, boring weekend going over this." His eyes focused on hers, speculative. "Can I buy you a drink?" He laughed ruefully at her surprised expression, "That bad?"

"No," she laughed, "you caught me off guard…sure, just a drink, right?"

"Lawyer's Honor – if there is such a thing. Fifteen minutes?"

As Joss started clearing her desk, Fusco watched her with a smug expression on his face, making wide circling motions with his arms. Ignoring him, Joss left the precinct, meeting Bordeaux outside.

Adam Bordeaux surprised her, first by bypassing all the cop and lawyer bars and escorting her to an elegant little place a few blocks from the precinct, then by selecting a table for two – she thought that some of his colleagues would join them.

They ordered and then Bordeaux said, "I'm going to get straight to the point. Your partner's right – I _have_ been circling you like a vulture for months," he smiled softly, touching her hand. "Your lieutenant caught me just outside the bullpen before I went to the conference room."

Joss felt the blood rush to her face. "I am _so_ sorry you heard that."

"Don't be. I should have asked you out a long time ago. The Lombardi case, remember?"

She did remember. It was a little over a year ago, before everything changed.

Before John Reese.

Tilting her head, she smiled at him. "Why didn't you?"

"I tried to make things work again with my ex. We both tried – it just didn't work." He smiled again. "I planned on asking you today, but I think I might be too late. Tell me, Jocelyn Carter, are you taken?"

Joss sat there, not knowing what to say. Tomorrow night she was going to pretend to be the wife of a man she didn't know with the man she'd been fantasizing about for months. Statements like 'I don't know' or 'It's complicated' just didn't cut it.

Ridiculous, insane and bat-shit crazy did.

She did the next best thing. She shrugged.

Bordeaux leaned forward, fascinated, the prosecutor's gleam in his eyes. "Come on, you're a detective – a damn good one. You spend your days finding out the truth – who's not being honest, him – or _you_?"

Joss sipped her drink slowly, gathering her thoughts. It was one thing to fantasize – hell, she could think of half a dozen movie stars she'd had some really good fantasies about, but to be taken, to belong to someone, to open up her heart to John Reese…throughout their ups and downs and Joss admitted, getting someone shot was a big down, he never doubted her. He respected her as a detective, a mother and a woman. He was always there, even when she thought she didn't want him around. He knew her moods and he didn't care. He made her see a rainbow of possibilities in a life that had been far too gray for far too long.

He was her friend.

Tears suddenly filled her eyes. She shrugged again.

Bordeaux' rich laugh filled the small room. "You're taken, kicking and screaming, but you're taken. You just need to let him know." He leaned forward, taking her hand. "Maybe in another life, I won't wait too long."

Hailing a taxi cab for her, he said as he opened the door, "Thank you for a fascinating conversation."

"I barely said ten words."

"That's what made it fascinating." Handing her several bills for the fare, he kissed her cheek and strode away.

Joss got out of the cab several blocks from her home, needing the walk to clear her head. With Taylor away, the apartment was spotless, quiet and still. She attempted to bake comfort food brownies, sighing at the congealed mess she pulled out of the oven – hopefully Josie Careese was a better cook than she was.

Carrying the pan into the living room, she nibbled on the cooked edges while she reviewed the files on the Careeses again. Finch called with additional instructions for tomorrow, the anxiety in his voice evident. "Finch, I, _we_," – she chose the word deliberately – "know this is important to you. We won't let you down."

He was silent a long moment, "Thank you, Detective. Good night."

Still wide awake, Joss pulled out her sewing basket – sewing she _could_ do. One of the sofa cushions had gotten torn when Taylor was roughhousing with a buddy a few weeks ago. As she sorted through the spools of thread for the right color, Reese called. His silky voice scolded, "Shouldn't you be in bed, young lady – you've got a big day tomorrow."

Joss laughed, noticing how her shoulders, which had been tense all day suddenly relaxed. "I could say the same to you."

"I'm not spending half the day with Finch's Glam Squad."

"He was a pageant director in a past life – or a priest who sacrificed virgins." Joss paused, the sound of his laughter reverberating in her ears. "Are you out there?," She jumped up, crossed the room and wrenched the front door open.

Reese was slouched nonchalantly against the hallway wall. "Want me to tuck you in, Detective?"

"Just – get in here," she stalked into the kitchen, grabbing two beers out of the refrigerator.

As they settled on the couch, Reese shook his head at the mystery food on the table. "I never thought a MRE would look good until I sampled your cooking, Joss."

"Hey, I can be good in only one room, make your choice!" She shook her head, glaring at him. "Forget I said that."

Reese just grinned at her. She knew that he would badger her until he got an explanation – better get it over with now.

Joss sighed. "In my family the women have a tradition of saying to their husbands, 'I can be good in only one room – a great conversationalist in the living room, a great cook in the kitchen or a great lover in the bedroom. Make your choice.'"

"Does it work?"

"Yes." Despite herself, she grinned at his raised eyebrow. "And no, I'm not telling you the choice my husband made."

"I'm sure your husband made the right choice."

Their eyes met, held. Finally Joss asked, "Why did you stop by tonight?"

Reese pulled out two small black jewelry boxes from his jacket pocket. "Finch wanted to give this to you tomorrow, but…something like this, you need a little time to get used to it…otherwise you'll be twisting and turning it and that can be a dead giveaway."

Copies of the Careeses' wedding rings were nestled inside. Joss ran her finger over the highly polished metal. "They're beautiful."

"An exact replica, right down to the word 'forever' inscribed inside."

Joss' startled eyes met his – that information wasn't in the files.

She took the larger ring out of its box. Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from trembling, Joss took his strong hand in hers, running her fingers over the strong tendons, the calluses, noting how small her hands looked next to his. Slowly she slid the ring on his finger.

Reese took the smaller ring out of its box. He held her hand for a long moment, intertwining his fingers in hers. His eyes bored into hers, flashing from pale gray to a deep, rich blue. Slowly he slid the ring on her finger.

"Now everyone will know you're taken," Reese whispered.

"Yes," Joss nodded.

A tiny voice said, ask him to stay, ask him to stay. "John…" She stood up. "We should call it a night."

Reese opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, closed it, then opened it again. "Yeah…we've got a big day tomorrow."

As she walked John to the front door he said, "Are you planning another date with ADA Bordeaux?"

She didn't ask how he knew. "It wasn't a date…no," she looked at him directly. "No, I'm not."

"Good." his eyes were hard, then softened. "I don't like the idea of my wife spending time with another man."

He touched her ring and vanished into the night.

A/N: Next, Sheriff Shannon has a chat with Johann Careese.


	9. Chapter 9

Parallel Lives – Chapter 9

A/N: Sheriff Shannon has a chat with that "smug arrogant bastard" Johann Careese. Before the chat, we'll learn a little more about why the Sheriff feels that way about him.

Even after all these years, Johann Careese still bugged Will Shannon.

He was too much of everything.

Too smooth, too handsome, too smug, too rich.

Too dangerous.

As Shannon waited for Careese to arrive, he swiveled his chair around to the wall of photos, awards and citations behind the desk in his home office. One photo held a place of honor in the center, the christening ceremony for Tyler, when he and Lily became his godparents. It was hard to believe that tiny baby was now a brilliant grad student at MIT.

Taking the photo off the wall, Shannon ran his hand over the simple frame. They were all so happy on that day, all those years ago. Three of the people in the photo were gone – Josie's first husband David, killed in the line of duty when Tyler was three, and her parents, Paul and Olivia, who lost their lives when a devastating tornado tore through Ashbow ten years ago.

Shannon sighed. David Cotter had done his duty, had protected the citizens of Ashbow County and saved lives – he'd died a hero, small comfort to his wife and son. Josie had buried her grief, continued being a fantastic mother to Tyler and a year after his death had launched her column in the Ashbow _Star_. There were several men who were interested in her, but she was focused on her son and her work.

Until Johann Careese came to town.

Shannon put the photo back on the wall, thinking back to their first encounter.

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For decades, attempts to take advantage of the rich mineral deposits in the vast network of caves in Ashbow County had been stymied by a loose confederation of criminals. Hijacking, smuggling, gunrunning, drugs – you name it, they did it. They considered the caves and the hills around them their personal fiefdom, controlling the lives of the people who lived there.

Shannon and his deputies had tried to bring them down for years, but the limitations of the law, the understandable reluctance of victims and residents to testify and some highly placed corrupt officials had kept them from bringing the leaders to justice. They were able to get some of the lower level operatives, but the top dogs, especially the duo Keller and Lawson*, known as Killer and Lawless, continued to evade them. Keller, a deceptively courtly looking silver haired man, and Lawson, his son-in-law, were deeply involved in the drug trade, including the development of a series of designer drugs that had ruined many lives in the area.

Six months before the announcement of the new factory, the group began to fall apart. Ironclad evidence appeared, alliances were fractured and new incorruptible officials were appointed. Some associates, drawn to the group out of desperation or coercion, suddenly were able to begin new lives away from Ashbow County. Other, more hardened associates simply disappeared.

As the criminal activity began to decline, orienteers and cavers had slowly started to explore the area – Josie had even written a column on a group of cave divers - but the place was still extremely dangerous. When Shannon met with Careese and his team the day after the announcement, he openly scoffed at their plans. While the team presented charts and statistics, Careese remained silent, watching the debate with a faint air of amusement on his face.

Finally, Shannon growled at him, "You going to let your people speak for you? Keller and Lawson are still out there and they're not going down without a fight."

"I have faith in the people of Ashbow County, Sheriff. You should too."

"What the hell are you talking about?" The bastard was actually smirking at him.

"Sometimes… people do the right thing, Sheriff."

Two o'clock the next morning, Shannon got a knock on his door. Zooey Morgan Keller stood there with a slim journal. Ignoring his wife's raised eyebrows at the cleavage, hair extensions and short skirt, Shannon ushered her into his home office. Zooey had been involved with Lawson years ago, but he threw her over for Keller's daughter. On the rebound and with a heaping dish of revenge, she married his new father-in-law. Zooey was still a beautiful woman but her beauty had been hardened with the hard choices she made.

She handed him the journal.

It was all there. Locations, contacts, bank accounts. Apparently Keller also had a penchant for filming the interrogation and murder of his competitors and Zooey had information on where to find those recordings as well.

"Why?" he asked.

Her voice was low and rough from years of cigarettes and too much liquor. "Someone helped me see that…," she paused, and her soft smile took away all the hardness in her face, "I could do the right thing."

As their empire fell apart, Keller and Lawson were trapped – locations were raided, contacts turned their back on them or cut their own deals with the DA and their secret bank accounts were mysteriously drained. Desperate and suspicious of one another, the two fought. Lawson killed Keller, but terribly wounded and trying to get away, he drove his car off the road and hit a tree, dying instantly.

The factory was being built without a hitch. The influx of jobs, money and supporting businesses began to transform Ashbow County back into a place people wanted to raise their families in, a place where young people stayed rather than taking the first bus out of town. While Shannon was extremely grateful for that – Ashbow County had been dying a slow death for years – his suspicions of the methods – and the man he suspected was behind those methods – were raised.

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Lily walked in carrying a tray with a pot of coffee and mugs, humming the song _Smooth Operator_**, Shannon's derisive nickname for Careese when he first set his sights on Josie. He shook his head at her, "You know neither one of us is going to drink that." She smiled, put the tray on the little side table, and walked out still humming the tune.

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Shannon had been in the audience the day of the news conference sixteen years ago and witnessed the sparks between Careese and Josie. Like a lot of people, he thought Careese was taking advantage of the beautiful young widow, that he would "bed her, but not wed her", he groused to his wife, as news of their romance rocketed across the county.

Lily laughed. "Did you ever think that maybe she might _just_ want to bed him? He is, as we used to say, dreamy. David, rest his soul, has been gone for some time. Let her have some fun. Besides, I don't think a man like Johann Careese is going to make his home in Ashbow – once the factory is up and running, he'll go on to something – and someone - else."

She put down her knitting, giving him her full attention. "What is it, Will? You've been grumbling about Johann Careese for weeks."

"I don't know…he's too…there's something there, Lil, I just can't put my finger on it."

"If you think there's a problem, look into it." She patted his arm, "after all, you _are_ the Sheriff."

Careese's resume was clean – the Army, time in the government, then a series of increasing successful businesses. An only child, his father had died of a heart attack when he was in high school and his mother was killed in a bus accident years ago. Shannon also looked for the usual personal complications – a wife, a mistress, a gambling problem, _something_.

There was nothing there. Shannon decided to call in a few favors.

His contacts were eager to help, but when they called him back, they either had nothing or provided information that simply supported what he already knew.

One night he parked his Jeep on one of the hills overlooking the construction site. The factory was going to be immense, as expected of a place that would, according to the announcement, ultimately employ over 60,000 people, but he sensed there was something else going on there that had nothing to do with the factory's stated mission, something big.

Shannon sighed - maybe Lily was right – Josie would have some fun, the factory would be built and Careese would move on. Maybe he was trying to find evidence to fit the theory – a lot of good cops had gotten twisted up that way.

He had to keep looking.

A few months later, Ashbow held its annual Founder's Day celebration. As one of the county officials, Shannon was expected to attend, wander the tents and press the flesh, when he would have preferred being out there with his deputies. Like many events, the incidents increased as the evening went on and the alcohol consumption went up. While most of the deputies' work included breaking up fights and getting medical assistance to those who overindulged, there were also crimes of opportunity – missing wallets and jewelry, and those of just plain cussedness – harassment and bullying – that kept the peace officers busy.

Shannon went to check on Lily, who was sitting with Josie, listening to the band. While they were chatting, Shannon caught a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye. Across the field, seven young toughs surrounded Careese. Jealous of the attention the handsome bachelor was getting from the women in town, and perversely afraid that the new factory would force them to grow up and do something with their lives, they decided to visit their displeasure on him, figuring the tall, thin man would be easy pickings.

It was over in seconds.

Four were unconscious, two were rolling around on the grass in agony and the last was backing away, holding his arm, as Shannon and his deputies ran to the scene.

Careese had barely broken a sweat.

Whatever his resume said, Johann Careese had not learned how to take apart seven men single-handedly in the regular Army or some government job.

At first he refused medical attention for the cuts on his cheek and hands, but then Josie stalked over, muttered something about him making an entrance, and made him sit down. Grabbing supplies from one of the EMTs, she began to tend his injured cheek. When she finished, her hand cupped his face. Careese closed his eyes. It was only for a moment, and then Josie started to clean his skinned knuckles.

Lily nudged him, but Shannon had seen what she saw.

Johann Careese was in love with Josie, but more importantly, Josie was in love with him.

Shannon decided to stop looking.

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He heard Careese's soft voice as Lily welcomed him into their home.

Despite his decision all those years ago to stop poking into Careese's background, Shannon trusted his cop instincts - there _was_ something there, but as he reminded himself, the man had proved his devotion to Josie and their family over and over again.

He poured two glasses of Scotch, amused at his own stubbornness. He still didn't have to like him.

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"You ready to tell me who's trying to kill my wife, Will? Or should we talk to the person you met with at the airport yesterday?"

Careese was slouched in the old easy chair, the only hint of his rage at the threat to Josie a slight flexing of his left hand as he spoke to Shannon.

The retired sheriff knew that if the murderer were in front of them right now, Careese would kill him without a second thought.

"We don't know yet."

"Tell me what you _do_ know."

In his afternoon call with Finch, they'd discussed what to tell Careese and how much he might already know. Shannon shared what they decided he could - the murders themselves, the similarities between the couples and some of the steps they had taken.

Finch's plan with the lookalikes was not included. The plan was crazy and Careese might try to put a stop to it - hell, Shannon thought, if he hadn't known Finch for all these years and knew what he could do, _he_ might try to put a stop to it. A more plausible plan had been devised and steps had been taken to make it seem as though it was underway, in case Careese decided to look into it after this evening's meeting.

"We know that the murderer strikes after the public event, so we still have until late Saturday evening to try to discover who he or she is." When Careese raised an eyebrow as an indication for Shannon to continue, the older man shook his head. "I need to know what you know. If the killer has any hint that we're on to him, he might change his approach - we," he nodded at Careese, indicating he was including him, "can't have that."

Careese's eyes blazed at him for a moment and Shannon could almost feel those strong hands around his throat, but then the younger man nodded, a flicker of respect in those icy gray orbs. "Someone tried to breach our firewalls this morning. It wasn't so much the attack – it was the method – it was brilliant. I have an IT consultant that no one at Careese Industries is aware of. He was able to trace the hacker back to an insurance company in New York City, but it was a dead end. We knew, based on the sophistication of the attack, the attempt wasn't random – they were looking for something specific."

"Then you asked my head of security to grant you access to the personnel files. He came to me." Careese's lips quirked slightly at Shannon's raised eyebrows. "We decided there was a good reason you were committing industrial espionage, so we let you have access to the personnel files for a limited number of hours. While you were occupied, I tracked your steps over the last few days and found out that you were at the private airport in Mitchell yesterday. I couldn't find out who you met with, but I did find out that the plane was registered to a subsidiary of that same insurance company."

Shannon nodded. "So, a hacking attempt from New York, a plane registered in New York and –"

"My wife and I are heading to New York. Not a big leap to conclude that the threat was in New York and that you were getting help from someone there. You love Josie like a daughter, so the threat had to be against her."

Shannon passed him the glass of Scotch he'd poured before Careese entered his home office.

"Even with my accessing Careese Industries records, you still thought the threat was against her?"

"Josie, or the two of us. If the threat was only against me," Careese smiled softly, "I doubt you'd go through all of this to find out who the killer was."

Shannon didn't deny it. He told Careese the version of the plan for Saturday night that he and Finch had cooked up.

Careese drained his glass. "You didn't ask me here to tell me that. What do you want, Will?"

Shannon laid out what he wanted him to do. Careese's face was expressionless, but Shannon knew that the man he had been, the man he glimpsed this evening, was warring with the husband and father he was now.

"On one condition." Careese told him what he wanted.

Shannon knew that if he agreed, he and Careese would be bound together forever, even beyond the grave. He swiveled his chair around, looked at that photo on the wall. Without turning back, he nodded.

Careese left without saying a word.

Shannon stood up, walked over to the little side table. He hoped the coffee was still hot.

A/N: *Keller and Lawson were the father and son-in-law duo in the season 1 episode, The Fix, that also introduced Zoe Morgan.

**Smooth Operator, the 1984 song by Sade, has this lyric - His eyes are like angels, but his heart is cold.

Next, three planes head east, Reese and Harold finish their preparations and Finch's Glam Squad (finally!) help Joss get ready for the ball, I mean, the gala.


	10. Chapter 10

Parallel Lives – Chapter 10

A/N: Three planes head east, Reese and Finch finish their preparations and Finch's Glam Squad (finally!) help Joss get ready for the ball, I mean, the gala.

This chapter is long and a bit clunky as we'll be checking on all of our players as they start to move across the game board.

Reese slipped into Joss' apartment at the crack of dawn. Ok, errand's done, he thought, as he placed the packages on the coffee table, leave.

The ring on his finger gleamed in the dim light.

Just for a moment, he swore, as he moved silently down the hall.

He had watched her sleep before, when she was trying to catch him, when there were threats against her, when she cut him off after the shooting at the safe house. He'd told himself it was because he needed to know who his adversary was, that he needed to know she was safe, that he needed to know if she still had that terrible look of guilt on her face after she visited Szymanski during his long recuperation.

This morning was the first time he told himself the truth – that he needed to see her.

Joss' bedroom door was open. She was sleeping on her side on the far side of the bed, facing the door. When he'd watched her sleep before, she was either sprawled across the sheets or curled into a tight ball, but this morning it was as though she was waiting for someone to share that bed with her, someone who worked a back shift or was on call, someone who would slip in beside her, share a few moments with her, before she started her day.

She looked tiny and delicate, her face framed by a scarf to protect her hair. In some cultures, married women kept their hair covered, reserving for their husbands the privilege of viewing their tresses. As he watched Joss sleep he wondered what it would be like to lie beside her, to draw his finger against her full lips, waking her.

Hi, honey, I'm home.

Joss would stir, glance sleepily at the clock. At first she'd glare at him when she saw what time it was, then a slow smile would spread across her face. She'd sit up, breasts swaying gently as she raised her arms. The scarf would drift down, slide off the bed, onto the floor. He would watch her unwind her hair, the thick raven tresses spilling over her ears, then down her neck, then across her shoulders, swirling over her chest.

As he pulled her close, her hair would cascade forward, shielding their faces from the world.

She shifted slightly. Before he turned to go, he finally let himself look at her hand.

The ring on her finger gleamed in the dim light.

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Presidents, baseball pitchers, comedians* – fortunately cruciverbalists, the term for people who like to do crossword puzzles, run the gamut of society, the killer thought as he drove to the old barn. As he expected, Ricky Hansen was sitting on a gigantic tractor tire, filling in a crossword puzzle with a nub of a pencil.

Ricky had one supreme talent – he could fly a plane without it being detected. He possessed an almost supernatural knowledge of where there were dead spots in radar fields, when satellites were offline for software patches, which bridges were safe to fly under, what places you could refuel at with no questions asked.

Using his small fleet of planes scattered across a dozen states, Ricky would fly anyone, anywhere, for a price. He was so valuable the criminal underworld had turned him into a time share of sorts, different groups agreeing to get him for so many hours a month.

The killer had met Ricky several years ago at a crossword puzzle tournament and had taken advantage of his unusual talent once before. He never planned to use him again, but he needed to get to New York City in a hurry and Ricky would help him get most of the way.

Tossing him a small bag, he waited while Ricky counted his fee. He always kept a large stash of cash at his home, small bills that he saved from his travels all over the country – there would be no record of a large withdrawal or bills in sequence, no one to say they'd seen him at the bank.

Finally Ricky nodded. As the little plane rose in the early morning sky, the killer stared out the window, pretending to listen to Ricky's chatter, while he reviewed his preparations up to this point:

_After leaving the ceremony at the auditorium, he had returned to his home, tweaked the puzzle he had created over a year ago with the Careese's first names in it and uploaded it for Saturday's newspapers. He knew there was a possibility that some of the smaller publications would have already used what he had already submitted, but the vast majority wouldn't download his submission until Friday evening, after they had fitted in the articles and advertisements. _

_His whiteboard had the dates and locations of upcoming crossword puzzle tournaments. There were two near New York City on Sunday afternoon - one in New Haven, Connecticut, the other in Cherry Hill, New Jersey – a reason for his presence in the area. He would pick one and make a surprise appearance, letting them assume that he had travelled to the city to see his publisher. If by some remote possibility he was recognized in the city, he would say that he was in area for a tournament._

_Next, he needed a fall guy, or at least a distraction. Unlike the other murders, he probably wouldn't be able to disguise the Careeses deaths as accidents. He walked over to one of Ashbow's older neighborhoods, heading towards a huge ramshackle Victorian that bordered one of Ashbow's first community gardens. Every house and building in Ashbow's town center had been wired and had Internet access courtesy of Careese Industries, including this old house, which had been converted into an apartment/rooming house of sorts, including numerous entrances for the residents. The place looked deserted, but if he was seen, he could say that he was visiting one of the residents or had a question about the community garden. Heart beating rapidly with the thrill of possibly being discovered, he stepped onto the long porch._

_He knew that at least one door would be unlocked and he was right, pushing back a sliding door with his elbow. The hallway was cool and dark, the walls covered with flyers, posters and signs advising the residents of different responsibilities. A large arrow under the word 'Manager' sent him in the right direction._

_He put on his gloves and walked down the hall towards an apartment occupied by the building's careless owner, Brittany Boucher. Brittany had been president of the Ashbow County Community Garden Association and she had run the group the same way she managed her building – forced out as president when she couldn't account for missing funds, Bethany had been insisting in her dreamy, New Agey way, at today's ceremony that the money would turn up soon, if everyone would just stop with the negative energy. _

_She refused to see that the largest source of negative energy – and the person who probably stole the money – was her boyfriend construction worker Matt Storey. _

_Matt Storey was one of the seven young toughs who had attacked Johann Careese at the Founder's Day celebration, all those years ago._

_While Brittany was no longer president of the Association, she still was one of the founding members, so the group had taken the sting of her ouster by making her a roving manager of sorts – she now had the responsibility of visiting all the garden sites, talking to gardeners, etc. Surprisingly her apartment door was locked, but as the killer cast his eyes around the door frame, he could see that it was a cheap replacement door and that it had been set in poorly, the cylinder – the part that extended from the lock when the door was locked - clearly visible. Pushing his shoulder gently against the door, it popped open. _

_Closing the door behind him, he moved near the open windows, taking care to stay out of sight. He could hear Brittany's dreamy voice singing in the garden. If he moved quickly he could confirm what he already suspected. _

_Walking over to her cluttered desk, he stood there for a moment, surveying the space. Brittany had a poster of the opera house's production about the three reality television sisters on the wall. During a swing through Oklahoma City to promote their new clothing line, the trio had sold a variety of autographed memorabilia and the poster with their signatures was proudly displayed. The date of the gala was circled on her calendar and she had notes with the words 'Believe', 'Can', 'Manifest', 'Receive' and other positive words were stuck to photos of beautiful clothes, expensive cars and rare gems._

_He continued to survey the space. There was a mug that had the Association's logo on it – it was empty, apparently not used for anything, the only pristine thing on her desk. With a smile, he lifted it, saw the sticky note with her password stuck underneath. When he accessed her laptop, he saw that she had the opera company's website bookmarked and numerous articles about the company itself and the gala were saved on her desktop. Her email account – she used the same password – had more of the same. _

_After spying on the Careeses in that empty office, he'd taken a few moments to tamp down his anger and arousal and had gone back into the auditorium, planning on only staying for a few moments, then making a graceful exit. As he walked in, he heard Brittany gushing on and on to Josie about the gala – perhaps she'd overheard the woman he was now going to kill talking to her friend, Sheriff Shannon's wife, about the gala before the ceremony. _

_He'd begun to formalize his plan before he left the auditorium._

_Typing quickly, he checked a few other sites, including Google Earth, purchased airline tickets, reserved a hotel room and bought nosebleed seats to the gala using credit cards he had gotten for one of several false identities he had created several months ago. He slipped an envelope in her yoga bag. _

_Walking casually out of the building he made his way back home, then drove to a shopping plaza in the next town. He then took a bus from the shopping plaza to a community college where he knew Ricky liked to hang out, watching the female college students, while he waited for his next job. As he expected, Ricky had a crossword puzzle in his hand. _

_They spoke briefly, made plans to meet this morning. _

"Hey, you listening?"

He turned his head towards Ricky, feigning interest as the pilot talked about a woman he was interested in. There was a tricky area coming up soon and Ricky would need to pay attention to his piloting. He could wait and then continue with a review of his plan.

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Will Shannon felt a curious mixture of dread and excitement. Dread because a killer might strike today; excitement because he might be able to stop that killer. He hadn't really slept at all last night, between talking to Finch and reviewing all the data one more time, it was well after midnight before he went to bed. You're not as young as you think you are, Lily would scold him. Usually he'd grumble and brush her off, but this morning he knew she was right. He had to conserve his energy for what promised to be an extremely long day.

He got up, showered, shaved and dressed. As he walked back into the bedroom, he could hear his dog, Bunk, yawn from his bed in the corner of the bedroom. Lily rolled over, blinking sleepily. In their decades together, she had put up with so much – his job, his grumbling, his grudges, his failings as a husband and as a man.

He ran his finger along her cheek, realizing not for the first time, but with a painful clarity, how much she meant to him.

"Lil, I –"

Her voice was soft, but her eyes were fierce. "When you come home, you can tell me then."

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Joss tried to stay in bed as long as possible, but she just couldn't lie there. She threw on some sweats, went down the hall and entered the kitchen. As she sipped a cup of coffee, her left hand reached out, smoothing last Saturday's crossword puzzle lying on the kitchen table. Last night when she took the pan of brownies back into the kitchen, she realized that Reese had slipped the completed puzzle in her cardigan pocket during his visit.

Smartass, she thought, smiling despite herself. He'd won - she'd have to buy today's paper and sometime soon buy him a cup of coffee.

Maybe she'd bring today's puzzle to the hotel this afternoon. They'd need something to do if they had to spend the night together.

Joss realized she was staring at the wedding ring on her finger.

Jumping up, she moved quickly into the living room. There was a pile of packages on the coffee table – she knew they contained clothes, jewelry, ID – everything she needed to walk into the hotel later today as Josephine Careese.

John had been in her apartment this morning.

A wisp, something had floated across her mind while she slept. She thought it was a dream, but she realized now that John had stood outside her bedroom door, just for a moment, watching her.

Last night she had managed to ignore that tiny voice that wanted to ask him to stay. If she had been awake this morning, could she have ignored that voice again?

She decided not to answer that question.

Joss went to the coat closet and pulled on a pair of thin runner's gloves from a basket on the shelf.

A good run was what she needed right now.

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Brittany Boucher sighed. She had been trying to meditate every morning for the past six months, but she just didn't get it. She couldn't calm her mind – when she did, she fell asleep. As she put her yoga mat back in her bag, she saw the envelope.

There was money in there, lots of money.

She turned on her handheld device, checked her messages. There were confirmations for plane tickets, a hotel room and tickets to the gala in her email.

Whooping, she jumped in her car and drove off to the pancake house to find her boyfriend Matt. As she drove along, she thought about all the people in Ashbow who thought Matt had stolen the Association's money.

She knew who stole the Association's money – she did.

Brittany always got what she wanted. Just as she'd gotten her grandmother's house and car, her great aunt's jewelry and Matt from that waitress at the pancake house.

Well, almost always – she was still working on manifesting her dreams. But - she wanted to go to New York City and attend the gala and that dream just came true.

She was sure it was the guy who lived across the street from her house that bought the tickets and gave her the money. When she sunbathed in the front yard he always came over to talk to her, his eyes riveted on her breasts. He'd snuck into her apartment before and left her sexy messages in her email account about all the things he wanted to do to her, given her money and gifts. She'd let him have a little taste and promised him more if he gave her more and he finally delivered.

He thought they'd go the gala together and that away from his wife and family, she'd finally give him what he wanted.

She'll probably have to – he'll be pretty pissed off after he finds out that she went away with Matt, but she'll deal with that later.

"Hey, babe." Matt was sitting in the booth in the back, 'his' booth, nursing a cup of coffee when she hurried in.

"Hey, babe yourself," she beamed. "Get up, we are going to New York City!"

"What?" He looked at her blearily. Brittany sighed. He'd gotten pretty wasted at the bar last night.

"You. Me. Us. New York City." Quickly she explained the tickets and money. "Let's go."

"Why would I want to go to some fucking gala? We can spend the money and have fun right here." He settled back in his seat.

"I'm going."

"Have fun, babe." His eyes slid past her. She knew he was checking out his old girlfriend and she didn't need to turn around to know the skank was checking him out in return.

"The Careeses will be there."

Matt's eyes changed, sharpened, the bleariness suddenly gone. "Fuckin' Careeses. Acting like they're better than everyone."

Sometimes when Matt got drunk and she realized, more than a few times when he was sober, he talked about harming the Careeses. While he blamed Johann Careese for beating him up and humiliating him, he blamed Josie almost as much for keeping Careese in Ashbow, prolonging that humiliation.

"We'll be there, all dressed up, baby, looking just as good, better than they are."

Matt laughed. "Yeah, they'll shit when they see us."

As they walked out of the restaurant, Brittany eyed his old flame. She linked her arm in his.

Matt stopped, stretched his hand out and picked up a ring of keys, lying near his truck. "My work keys…must have fallen off my belt."

She kissed him. "You won't need them in New York. Let's go."

Her dream was manifesting itself splendidly.

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They switched to a bigger plane and Ricky's brow crinkled in concentration as they skirted the most populated areas. The killer closed his eyes, pretending to doze while he continued the review of his preparations:

_Barnstormers was packed as expected on a Friday night. Sitting at the bar, the killer smirked as he watched Matt Storey at 'his' table. His table, his booth, his parking spot – the man was almost forty years old and he was still a bully, snarling at and intimidating those who dared encroach on his territory. _

_While the six other men who attacked Johann Careese sixteen years ago had gone on with their lives – one even treated what happened as a humorous incident, occasionally wearing a t-shirt, that said 'Yep, Johann Careese whipped my ass', it was as though Matt Storey was still twenty years old, spoiling for a rematch. He'd sit in the bar, complaining to anyone who'd listen - and the numbers would go down as his cash ran out and he stopped buying drinks - that he was drunk that night, Careese had cheated – what man uses his legs to fight, the others had held back, on and on until the bartender cut him off and whatever woman he was with persuaded him to go to her place. _

_The killer bought a pitcher of beer, walked over to the table, mumbled that he was going to get lucky. As he slid the pitcher on the table, he took the ring of keys off Storey's belt. _

_Walking out to Storey's truck, he quickly found the key he wanted, opening the container in the truck bed. Smiling, he'd correctly guessed that the man kept the lanyard with his access badges in the truck – that he'd forgotten it more than once and gotten reamed out by his boss, so he locked it in the container after work. _

_Driving out to the construction site, he got what he wanted. _

_The killer slept for a few hours, then did one last pass of his home, stripping away anything that could connect him to Josie. He took the note from Josie, yellow with age and worn with his fingers, from the wall. Holding it to his lips for a moment, he kissed it, then resolutely pushed it through the shredder next to his desk. _

_Lastly, he went into his bedroom, pulling out a necklace that he kept hidden between his mattress and boxspring. Nine wedding rings slid along the chain – eight that he had gotten from one of the spouses at the time of their deaths, and one from the first couple that he had been able to take from the funeral home while the bodies were being prepared for burial. Putting the necklace around his neck, he taped the rings against his chest, so they wouldn't move. Buttoning his shirt and throwing on a jacket – he knew the plane would be cold and the jacket would disguise the lump of the rings – he grabbed a pair of gloves and left. _

_On his way to meet Ricky, the killer drove to the pancake house. As he hoped, Matt Storey was there, in 'his' booth. He drove into the parking lot, parked next to Storey's truck. Fishing some change out of his pocket, he bought the paper from the little box on the sidewalk. As he returned to his car, he casually tossed the keys near Storey's truck, then drove away. _

_Flipping through the Ashbow _Star_ as he drove, he saw that they had printed the puzzle with the Careese's first names in it. _

They were almost at the end of the trip. From there, he would head to his next destination. As the plane began its descent, the killer thought about what he was doing. He had set a few things in motion, but there was no guarantee they would work - even if they did, by involving other people, he was opening himself up to the possibility of being caught.

There was also the strong possibility he would be killed. He was at that Founder's Day celebration and saw what Johann Careese had done to his attackers. What would he do to someone who tried to kill his wife?

Wait another year, he told himself, plan this out properly…

Kill Careese, then Josie would be free, free to come to him…

Not seeing Josie's face again or hearing her voice…

Clenching his fists, he reminded himself of what he saw in that empty office.

The killer turned his gaze on Ricky. He regretted having to kill him, but it had to be done. Flexing his gloved hands, he waited for the plane to land.

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Two private jets took off from Oklahoma bound for New York City. When the planes were over Pennsylvania, Will Shannon placed a call to Johann Careese's private line. Johann touched his wife, who had been dozing in the chair next to him and they both turned to the screen.

"Josie," Shannon smiled softly at her. His greeting to Johann was polite, but cool. To his credit, Careese let Shannon take the lead as he explained the situation to Josie, holding his wife's hand as she listened, her bright face registering shock, disbelief, anger and fear.

When she opened her mouth to speak, her husband took her other hand, squeezing them both tightly while he looked into her eyes. "Our children are safe. When I suspected something was going on, I took extra steps to make sure they were safe – and they are."

Shannon added, "This monster hasn't gone after any other family members in the other cases. If he did, Josie, I would have let you know right away."

Josie looked at her husband. "That's why Harrell came early."

Johann nodded. "They were spending the weekend with him anyway, having them leave a few hours early wouldn't alert the killer. There are over a dozen people watching Tyler at the symposium."

Shannon knew that twelve year old Hunter and the eight year old twins, Marin and Amina, were with Careese's uncle, Harrell Wren, who lived in Oklahoma City. Uncle, my eye, he thought – he'd met the man several times and didn't believe for a moment that erudite, dapper man was Careese's uncle, but he couldn't deny the caring and affection between the two men, or the close relationship Wren had with Josie and the children.

Wren lived in the former library of a private girl's school that had closed years ago. The rest of the buildings had been torn down and extensive gardens had been planted, turning his home into a mini estate with beautifully crafted twenty foot high wrought iron fences.

Shannon had walked past the place on visits to the state capital. While most people wouldn't have noticed, Shannon's experienced eyes knew better – the place was a fortress, right down to Wren's dog, Artkos**. Hunter, Marin and Amina would be safe there.

Tyler was presenting a paper at a two day symposium at MIT. A private security team, posing as attendees and staff, were in place at the conference center and a brilliant blogger, with all the appropriate clearances from the university, was shadowing the young scientist for an article on his work. The fact that she was beautiful, her braids highlighting glowing dark skin and killer cheekbones would keep his attention – her skills as a bodyguard would save his life.

"I know we spoke to them this morning, but -" she shook her head.

"They're safer away from us. I won't let anything happen to them, Jos."

Shannon knew this was between husband and wife and wisely kept his mouth shut. He thought about the ways he'd seen couples dealt with crises during all his years in law enforcement – some screamed at each other, others fell apart, went into denial, or blamed him.

The Careeses were silent, hands intertwined, eyes riveted on each other, while they spoke to each other in a way that didn't require words.

Finally Josie gave her husband a curt little nod. They turned their faces back to the screen.

"As we approach New York, this plane will land at the airport, while your plane will head south. You'll be taken to a private island in the Caribbean, where you'll stay until we can figure this out, a day or two at the most."

Josie asked, "Will – a jet, a private island - how are you doing all this?"

"I did a favor for someone."

"More than a favor, Will. You've _tied _yourself to this person in some way." Her dark eyes searched his. "Tell me you're not using a monster to catch a monster."

Shannon kept his eyes on hers. "I spent my career dealing with monsters…he's done things, but no, he's not a monster…I think, I _know_…all he wants to do now is help people."

A few minutes later, the planes diverged, one continuing east, the other now heading south.

Identical sets of luggage, one set with clothes for a weekend in New York and the other set with clothes for an island getaway had been switched at the Mitchell airport. By some alchemy that Shannon didn't understand and didn't want to understand, the plane's call letters had magically turned into the call letters of the Careese Industries jet. When the plane landed in a private airport in New York, it pulled into a hanger and minutes later two dark windowed limousines drove out – one with the luggage headed to the hotel, the other to Shannon's next destination.

As far as the world knows, the Careeses are in New York.

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After her run, Joss ran a few errands and talked briefly to her son, who was attending a mock NY Legislative session in Albany this weekend. She went through the files on the Careeses one more time, lingering on photos of the children.

Tyler's serious, narrow face transformed by his wide smile. Hunter's large hands and feet, hinting at an imminent growth spurt, tall and thin like his father. Marin's riot of dark curls framed a mischievous grin, while Amina's gray eyes missed nothing. Her favorite photo was of the four children together, their caring and regard for each other clearly evident. Joss could tell that Tyler took his role as big brother seriously and she knew that even though he was now half a continent away he kept in constant contact with his younger siblings. Johann and Josephine were doing a great job raising their family.

She regretted her snap judgment about Josephine Careese that night in the diner. Her husband had also been brutally taken away from her, but Josephine had not only survived, she had found love again. People always told Joss how brave she was, raising her child alone, protecting the citizens of New York as a police officer, but Josephine did something she had yet to do, given her heart to another man.

Joss closed the file, picked up the packages and took them into her bedroom. As she expected, the clothes were simple, but exquisite, the design, tailoring and fabrics of the highest quality. Joss sighed as she dressed, enjoying the feeling of the luxurious materials against her skin. She put up her hair in a simple twist – in almost all the photos, Josephine wore her hair up except on special occasions and Joss was sure, in private with her husband.

Lastly, she took the pair of diamond earrings, a replica of the first anniversary gift from Johann Careese, out of their box. Her hands began to tremble as she started to put them on, and she had to close her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

Finally, she looked at herself in the mirror. They say clothes made the man – or in her case, the woman - and while she felt the same on the inside, she knew that to the world, she was a different person. She was Josephine Careese.

"Ok," she said to her reflection. "Showtime."

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The Dorchester Hotel was one of those places that if you had to ask about it, you just didn't belong there. It never advertised, had a perfunctory one page website, and didn't even have a phone number listed anywhere, but it was almost always full to capacity. It was a place for the rich and/or extremely well connected. The staff was paid staggering salaries to cater to their guests and to keep their mouths shut, and they were all too happy to do so.

When those brave souls who didn't belong ventured into the lobby, they usually turned right around and walked back out, knowing they shouldn't be there, their voices suddenly muted and shy. A few managed to approach the front desk, but after a minute or so of politely vague conversation, they turned around and left, too, feeling somewhat giddy at their audacity.

They would have been shocked at John Reese, who not only strode confidently into the lobby, but calmly impersonated another man.

"Welcome back, Mr. Careese. Your luggage has arrived and everything has been put away." Patrick, the Dorchester's manager greeted him.

"Thank you, Patrick."

"Mrs. Careese?"

"Shopping."

Patrick nodded, handing him an access card. "Mr. Hawk called to confirm that Mrs. Careese's team will be here shortly to help her get ready for tonight's event. I will personally escort them upstairs."

Step one completed, Reese thought as he stepped into the suite. The Careeses were now checked in. His task now was to check the luggage – Fusco had driven it to the hotel, but there was a small window of opportunity for the killer to plant something while it was being taken to the room. The Dorchester staff had just finished moving furniture around in preparation for the team that would help Joss get ready for the gala. Finch was watching the feeds on the surveillance cameras Reese had installed the night before and hadn't seen anything suspicious, but one of the staffers could have been bribed or coerced into helping the murderer.

The East Penthouse – there were two suites on the top floor of the hotel, one facing east and the other facing west – had a large living/dining room, a bedroom and his and her baths. While they were beautiful, it was the terrace that made the penthouse one of the most coveted hotel rooms in the city. Exquisitely landscaped with a pool and a putting green, it was just the place for morning coffee, an afternoon nap in one of the chaise lounges or slow dancing under the stars.

As Reese methodically went through the suite and the Careeses' belongings, he started thinking about patterns. Patterns, habits, routines – we all have them, even those who try to be very careful, even those of us who know better: Finch with his tea, Fusco with his lottery tickets and he and Joss with their crossword puzzles.

Sometimes we establish those patterns for efficiency, sometimes because we're lazy and sometimes because that pattern means something. The Careeses had reserved the penthouse more than once, and while Reese had noted the dates of earlier visits as part of his preparation, one date stood out in particular, nine months after Johann and Josephine met. The couple had gotten engaged here after Josephine had flown to New York to meet Johann.

Reese knew, with absolute certainty, that they had made love for the first time here.

There was no evidence of that – no online journal entries, overheard conversations, or a plaque on the wall, even though, his lips quirking with the thought, there should be - he was sure it was epic – but Reese just knew. Despite the initial attraction, they had not tumbled into bed; they had become friends first, fallen in love and then become lovers.

The Dorchester was important to the Careeses, had become a pattern in their lives. They would return here, make love here, again and again.

All the more ironic that he might be spending the night here with Joss, watching for a murderer, when all he wanted to do was make love to her.

He walked out onto the terrace, stretching out on one of the chaise lounges, his eyes covertly sweeping the space for any changes, while pretending to check his messages. If the killer was watching from any of the dozens of buildings overlooking the hotel and had missed his arrival downstairs, they would know it now.

Reese closed his eyes, as if he was taking in the sun. He was letting his feeling for Joss impact this case – bringing the rings to her home last night, watching her sleep this morning – he knew that when she moved, she was just seconds away from awakening, he had left just in time - and now musing on making love to her at the hotel. Focus, he told himself – his feelings might help the murderer accomplish his goal.

Except they would die instead of the Careeses. And that would be ironic.

He heard Patrick's soft voice escorting the team in. Time for step two.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harold was behind the wheel of the second vehicle that pulled out of the airplane hangar. As he drove, he asked Shannon to recount the conversation with the Careeses on the plane.

Shannon grumbled, "You were listening the entire time, Finch."

"I know. I want to hear it again."

Harold nodded as Shannon finished. "The crew will contact us as soon as they land. Secure lines have been set up so they can talk to their children as often as they wish."

"Where are the detective and your guy?"

"The detective is at the hotel getting ready and 'my guy' is doing another round of checks of the limousine service and the opera house."

Harold noted that there were no last minute changes in staffing or procedures at the hotel, the livery service or the opera house. Security teams had placed discreetly at the key locations, plus there were several floaters on the streets nearby, watching for anything unusual. They speculated again on what method the murderer might try this time.

Finch adjusted his glasses. "If we knew why, we might be able to figure out who."

"At this point, it doesn't really matter, Finch. The fucker has a hard-on either for her or him, or the both of them. We'll keep looking, but your people need to be ready as soon as they leave the opera house."

Harold nodded as he pulled into a rest stop. He needed to look into the other man's eyes. "How did you get Mr. Careese to accept your proposal? Communications mysteriously cut off towards the end of your meeting with him last night."

Shannon met his eyes calmly. "That's between me and him. We got what we wanted, Finch. Careese won't show up here in New York."

"Yes, having two Mr. Careeses running around trying to find the murderer would have been problematic. Do you trust him?"

"He'll keep his word."

"Will you keep yours, Sheriff?"

"I'll do what's right, Finch."

Harold nodded. He drove the car back out on the highway.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Joss went to several elegant shops, buying several items, trying not to blanch at the sums she was spending. She smiled wryly to herself, wondering if Finch would notice if she bought a new refrigerator as well – with the credit limits on the credit cards he had created for her, he would barely notice.

Part of their plan was to establish that the Careeses were indeed in New York – Josie always did a little shopping when she was in the city, so Joss was doing the same. They also knew that the killer struck when the couples were together; if for some reason he planned on attacking them before the gala, being apart would give him pause.

Her heart was in her mouth when she walked into the hotel, but in all her years as a cop, Joss knew that people saw what they wanted to see, so if she presented herself as Josephine Careese, that's who she was.

"Congratulations, Patrick," she beamed as she shook the manager's hand.

"Thank you!" Finch had informed her that Patrick had just become a grandfather for the first time – someone like Josie would know that. He chattered happily about his new grandchild while he escorted her upstairs, eliminating Joss' need to talk much. One concern she'd had was not sounding like Josie – someone like Patrick whose whole career was based on being attuned to people would notice something like that. She gave Finch a silent prayer of thanks as he introduced her to the team.

Finch's Glam Squad was comprised of four people: Journee, the stylist, Antoine, the makeup person, Bob-bera, the hairdresser and Skinn, not surprisingly, the aesthetician. As Joss looked around the room she thought there was enough equipment, supplies and accessories for ten women and some of the equipment looked like they were part of a medieval torture chamber. After assuring her that he was aware that a courier would be arriving later in the afternoon with her dress, the manager left.

Journee took the lead. "Mrs. Careese, we're going to need you to take your clothes off, so we can get started". As Joss stripped in a bathroom that was bigger than her living room, she reflected this was the second time she'd be naked to strangers in two days. She hoped there weren't any surveillance cameras in the bathroom.

The team circled her slowly, taking notes, clucking, sighing and exchanging meaningful glances.

Skinn touched her calf. "No hair on your legs – you don't have to shave?"

"No – saves me a lot of time in the morning."

He nodded, looking vaguely disappointed.

Journee typed furiously on her tablet. "By the way, we met your husband. He is absolutely gorgeous."

While these people worked for Finch, Joss knew that Reese would want to meet them face to face, look into their eyes and make sure they were ok. She nodded – no way was Mr. Smartass getting an answer from her on the bug she was sure was planted in the room.

Antoine held different color strips against her face. "Yeah, smart man – said he was going to the driving range while we were here. We had one guy last week who hung around while we worked on his wife – think we scarred him for life."

Bob-bera nodded. "Every marriage has some secrets – this is definitely one of them."

Over the next several hours, the team pummeled her body into submission. She was washed, waxed and buffed. Her skin shimmered like burnished copper. Her hair gleamed like jet. She could practically see her reflection in her nails and her heels were so soft it almost hurt to walk on them. Brutally efficient, the team would whisk items out of the suite as they finished each task to another team waiting in the hallway. Just as soon as they finished this first round, Patrick brought the courier up.

A tattooed young man walked in with a garment bag and a laptop. He handed the garment bag to Journee and fished out a piece of paper from a pocket in his laptop bag that he gave to Joss. It was a scrawled note. 'This will make the smartass shut up – guaranteed.'

Journee opened the garment bag. Joss frowned – the dress was a wan tannish brown. "Are you sure this is my dress – it's not the color I requested."

The courier brought up her order on his laptop. "Yep, this is definitely yours. They couldn't get the color you originally requested, so Mr. Wren ordered this instead."

"Whoa," Journee said as she shook the dress out. "This thing is moving."

"Yep, that's where I come in – why don't you get dressed and I'll get you set up once you come back out."

Journee and Joss stepped into the bedroom. She showed Joss the stays in the garment. "You won't need a bra with this. These will keep you up, not that you need much help with that." She slipped the dress over Joss' head. As the garment flowed down her body, Joss felt it rippling as though it was alive.

The stylist stepped back, laughing delightedly. "This is in-fucking-credible!"

She pulled Joss back into the living room in front of the three huge mirrors set up there. Joss gasped. The dress was now the exact color of her skin and it was moving independently of her body.

The courier nodded. "Yep, we call this SecondSkin – we're developing it for camouflage, green screen movie work and hopefully burn victims. You have flawless skin so you were an excellent candidate for this test."

His fingers moved across the tablet. The top of the dress tightened against her torso, hugging every curve, while the skirt now swayed gently. Joss watched as his eyes roved over her body. He whispered, "Damn," then caught himself, becoming professional again. "We've imbedded nanobots*** in the fabric that will adjust to your movements. You won't have to worry about holding your dress up as you climb stairs or having it get stuck in your butt crack when you sit down. It won't wrinkle, twist or shift around."

Next, he had Joss repeat a few words into a microphone. "The nanobots will respond to you. If you get hot, it will cool you down and vice versa. If for some reason you need to run – sudden downpour or something, say the words 'split open' and a slit will open in the skirt – say 'split close' and it will close back up again. Can you put your shoes on?"

The evening sandals were the same color as her dress. When she put them on, she could feel them forming exactly to her feet. "Your feet won't slide around and the straps won't come loose. Walk around a bit."

Joss moved first gingerly around the room. He was right – she hopped, jumped, twirled, finally bursting into laughter. "This is unbelievable!"

"The only caveat is that the nanobots will shut off after twelve hours, so unless you're literally dancing 'til dawn, you should be fine. A member of our team will collect the dress first thing in the morning and take it back to the lab so we can download the readings." He stood up. "Ok, you are all set – have a great evening."

After he left, Antoine applied just the minimal makeup and Bob-bera put her hair in a sleek updo. Journee handed her a purse that looked like it was made out of amber.

"Last, but not least, your husband left you this." Journee opened a jewelry box. A stunning pair of citrine earrings nestled inside. "A perfect complement to your dress."

Joss looked at her reflection in the mirrors. Her eyes filled, then she blinked the tears away. "Thank you all."

The team smiled at her. Journee squeezed her arm, whispering in her ear, "Your man will give you anything you want tonight. Ask for it…even if it scares you."

Fifteen minutes later they were gone.

Joss stood there for a while, then she made her way downstairs.

A/N: *President Bill Clinton, former Yankees pitcher Mike Mussina (love those sideburns!) and comedian John Stewart are one of the many folks who love crossword puzzles in the 2006 film, Wordplay.

**– Greek for bear.

***Nanobots are microscopic robots that work together to perform tasks. Biologically based, they are currently being explored for possible medical applications.

Next, the gala.


	11. Chapter 11

Parallel Lives – Chapter 11

Thank you for your patience and kind messages regarding this story! Real Life knocked me sideways and I wasn't able to write anything for a while. I also had to rewrite significant portions of this tale, so this chapter now comes before the gala chapter, giving you some additional insights in Johann's and Josie's story as well as adding more info about the main mystery. I've included a gentle shout out to two of our talented writers, blacktop and Maddsgirl75 – if you haven't read their stories, you should!

A/N: The usual disclaimer – nothing you recognize belongs to me.

Johann knew where they were heading. The island had fulfilled many roles in the past – hippie commune, drug lord enclave, militia training site – but they were all covers for its previous owner, the CIA. The lush place had been used to recruit high level assets, transition defectors and debrief operatives. In between regime changes and shifting alliances, the agency promoted its own agenda by seducing powerful members of Congress and senior government officials with the island's pleasures.

While the venture was successful, it was expensive and rapidly becoming outdated. In this new world, regimes fell and alliances formed as quickly as they could be tweeted. Seduction could be conducted electronically - the right password was now as coveted as a Swiss bank account number. When the CIA's budget was slashed during a short-lived fit of governmental austerity, the agency put the island up for sale at a private auction open to only the most exclusive bidders, expecting a quick sale, but there were few takers.

Far from air and cruise line routes, the narrow strip of land had barely enough space for a jet to land and take off. High cliffs and dangerous whirlpools kept casual tourists at bay and the beach, while beautiful, was too small to tempt developers. Rumors of killing fields and biological weapons testing – spread by rival agencies anxious to make the CIA look bad – drove almost all of the potential purchasers away.

Harrell Wren had made a serious effort to buy the island, but was outbid at the last minute – the identity of the successful bidder had never been revealed. Johann knew that his friend and partner, out of curiosity and more than a little pique at being beaten, would occasionally try to ferret out information about the island, but once the winning bid was accepted, it was as though the place, already shrouded in mystery, not listed on any maps and talked about only in whispers, ceased to exist.

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_Sixteen years ago._

"Finally_, an actual question!," Chief accountant Leo Tao nodded approvingly at Josephine Cotter, garnering laughs from the audience - so many of the questions had been fluff or gotcha queries from the media members at the news conference, easily answered or sloughed off by the Careese Industries team. _

_Tao had been presenting on the financial impact of the factory on Ashbow County. Leo loved what he did and loved sharing his work with whoever would listen. While charts and graphs flashed across the screen, Careese gazed at Josephine. Unlike her fellow reporters and many people in the audience, she didn't take notes - her attention was completely on Leo._

_Careese knew that she had thoroughly reviewed the voluminous media packet, interviewed members of his team and even talked to the small army of staffers from an events company that had set up the auditorium for this afternoon. When she asked a question, it was well thought out, eliciting thoughtful responses in return. _

_Johann was reminded of how good she had been when she interviewed him. They hadn't spoken since the piece was published and Careese planned on congratulating her on the article's success after today's conference._

_Her dark eyes sparkled as she asked Leo several follow up questions, her skin glowed despite the harsh overhead lights and her conservative clothes couldn't hide the lush curves of her body. _

_Johann realized he was staring at her. _

_He turned his attention back to the presentation._

_As the news conference drew to a close, the events company staffers began herding the crowd out of the auditorium to a reception being held at the Ashbow Senior Center. Johann thanked his team, then leapt lightly off the stage and crossed the room, moving quickly and fluidly through the crowd towards her. _

_When he touched Josephine's sleeve, his thumb grazed the skin on the inside of her wrist. A frisson of desire shot through his core, so strong that his mind went blank and his body took over, moving just a little too close to her. Josephine's eyes met his, her lips parting ever so slightly and he knew she felt something too. _

_For a moment, they were just a man and woman, but then Josephine broke eye contact, Johann took a step back, and they became the reporter and the industrialist again. _

_Johann congratulated her, then added with a smirk, "I think you've interviewed everyone except our company mascot, Ursus*, Ms. Cotter."_

_It was as if she was glaring and smiling at him at the same time. "Is he here? I understand he's the brains behind this whole operation." _

"_He is, but unfortunately he had a prior commitment."_

"_Afraid he'd tell me all the company's secrets, Mr. Careese?"_

"_He's usually pretty close mouthed, but no…," his smile now was soft, genuine. "I don't trust him around you."_

_Most of the crowd had dispersed. Careese was aware that several pairs of eyes were watching them, but it was as if a forty foot wide force field had been erected around their bodies, which no one dared to cross. _

_Josephine's smile was also soft. "Well, if he does make it to town, let me know. I like a challenge." _

_She turned as if she was going to leave, but then turned back, tilting her head at him. "You," she waved her hand around, indicating that she was including the entire team, "did good today."_

_He quirked an eyebrow at her. "But…"_

"_I'm waiting for the other shoes to drop. Yours are pretty straight forward – either you can deliver or you can't. Ours," she pursed her full lips, "are a little more complex."_

_Careese nodded. The people of Ashbow County were happy and engaged now, but soon would come objections, expectations, disappointments. Harrell Wren had done extensive research, but in a place where people who had moved here twenty years ago were still referred to as newcomers, once the excitement wore off, scrutiny would increase and any mistakes made by he and his staff would be magnified ten times over. _

"_If you and your team need help navigating your way through some of the relationships around here, let me know. No promises," she gave him that half glare, half smile look again, "but I'll do what I can."_

"_Trying to pay me back for giving you an exclusive, Ms. Cotter?"_

_Josephine shrugged. "Just honoring a debt. And…I also think you – your company can do a lot of good around here. Have a member of your team call me." She turned and walked out of the auditorium. _

_A few minutes later, Johann's eyes swept across the reception at the Senior Center. He didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed that the columnist wasn't there. _

_From the moment he saw her, before he'd made his presence known in Ashbow County, Careese had wanted her, but as he reminded himself, the most he could he have with any woman was a casual relationship._

_There was nothing casual about Josephine Cotter._

_Two days later he called her. _

_Josephine listened, called him back three hours later with the information he needed._

_When he thanked her, she said, "You know, you could have one of your minions call me."_

"_Minions…that's rather harsh, Ms. Cotter. They're loyal associates."_

_He imagined her raising a finely arched eyebrow. "Okay, _loyal_ minions. Doesn't change what I said."_

"_I'll consider it." He hung up, smiling._

_The next time he called her, she said, "You know, you could have one of your henchmen call me."_

"_Henchmen…so menacing, Ms. Cotter. Do you consider Leo Tao my henchman?"_

_Johann heard the smile in her voice. "He'd probably like that. Doesn't change what I said."_

"_Next time." He hung up._

_Harrell Wren, understandably, was apprehensive at this development. "I know there was a reason you wanted her to interview you, Mr. Careese, but that objective has been realized. Engaging Ms. Cotter any further isn't warranted – or wise._

_Johann shrugged. "She can't arrest us, Harrell."_

_Wren twirled one end of his long moustache. "No, she can only put us on the front page of every newspaper in the country – and _then_ we'll be arrested. We – well, publically, you – will only be in Ashbow for a few months. It's not worth the risk." _

_He raised an eyebrow at Johann. "As I'm sure you'll recall, neither one of us looks good in orange."_

_Harrell was right. _

_Careese knew he was going to talk to her anyway. _

_He called her the next day. And the day after that. _

_Minions, henchmen, flunkies, sidekicks, crew, hangers-on – Johann looked forward to the teasing sobriquet of the day. Josephine was inquisitive, stubborn, funny, maddeningly honest, compassionate, impatient, but always very, very thorough. She shared what she could, was frank when she couldn't. She didn't curry influence or ask for favors for herself. Her love for the people and places of Ashbow County was deep, but unbiased. _

_Josephine's intelligence, training as a journalist, and desire to help others had resulted in not only an encyclopedic knowledge of facts and figures about the people and places of Ashbow County, but also the links, the connections, the way things _fit_ in this sprawling, open land. _

_And while there were a few shoes that dropped, many, many more stayed firmly on their owners' feet, thanks to Josephine Cotter. _

_Johann's whole life had been about missions: survive his childhood, join the Army, secure the target - always moving forward like a sleek shark, untouched, leaving nothing in his wake, but with Josephine he meandered, lingered, dawdled – one question would lead to two, two questions would lead to a conversation, and three questions would lead to a debate. He would hang up the phone and raise his coffee to his lips, the scalding hot beverage he thought he'd gotten just moments ago, now sludgy and ice cold._

_As the weeks went on, building of the factory was well underway and Careese and Wren had begun to focus on the real reason they had come to Ashbow County. The small group of assets Johann had recruited months ago were starting to work together and while new threats had come to Ashbow – nature, especially criminal nature, abhors a vacuum and the dismantling of Keller and Lawson's empire had brought new players to town – they were dealing with them. _

_Time to start putting some distance between himself and Josephine. _

_Two days later, he was trying to filch chips out of her lunch. _

_Careese knew that Josie usually ate lunch at a spot overlooking the Ashbow River before the newspaper's weekly staff meeting, so when he saw her car on his way back to town from the construction site, he pulled over and dashed in her vehicle as the rain, which had been threatening all morning, finally came down. _

"_If you're going to bust in my car, ask me for information _and_ steal my food, the least you can do is answer my questions, Johann," she huffed, firmly closing the plastic bag of homemade potato chips and handing him a bag of carrots and celery instead._

_He frowned at the healthy offering. "And here I thought we'd built such rapport."_

"_Just because we're "friends"," she crooked her index and middle fingers into quotation marks, while still holding on to the bag of chips, "doesn't mean I'll go easy on you." _

"_Obviously. You've asked me over a million questions since we met." _

"_Keeping track?"_

"_No…" he muttered under his breath, "one million, four hundred fifty three thousand, two hundred and eighty seven."_

_They smiled at each other. He ate a carrot, she opened the bag of chips, tilting it towards him. The rain had now turned into a driving downpour, obscuring everything around them. They sat companionably for a while, eating and talking about everything and nothing, as if they were old friends._

_Johann never really relaxed - there were too many threats to neutralize, too many sins to atone for, too many lies to keep track of - but Josie stilled something in him and he craved that stillness. It was the one thing that belonged to him and he didn't know if he could give it up._

"_What… do you think people look for in a friend, Josie?" His voice was even lower and softer than usual._

_Her chuckle was equally low and soft. "When I was in high school, we would have said a tank full of gas and your daddy's credit card." Her face turned towards the sheets of water pouring down the windshield and she was silent for a moment, forehead crinkled in thought. "Honesty, integrity, a sense of humor, compassion…that's the politically correct answer…but you know, I think… the real answer is acceptance. That's why you see people who on paper you'd think wouldn't give each other the time of day, become close friends. They like each other, but ultimately…" _

"_They accept each other." _

_She nodded. "Yeah."_

_Her eyes met his. The rain continued to pour down, but that wasn't what blocked out the rest of the world. They had gone from last names to first, from phone calls to coffee, from that initial spark of attraction to a constant current that ran between them, a hum that caused nods, winks and soft smiles from those watching them together, although nothing had happened between them, although they had barely touched._

_Josie's watch beeped and she jumped, breaking eye contact with him. "I have to get back to the paper." She smirked at him. "Next time have one of your groupies call me."_

"_And miss out on those chips?" He snatched the bag out of her hand, winking at her exasperated expression and ran to his car._

_As he watched her drive away, Careese made a decision._

_It was rash, stupid and dangerous._

_It was also the best decision he had made in a very long time. _

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After the call with Sheriff Shannon, Johann pulled Josie into his lap and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. He knew that his wife needed what she referred to as a moment. In the past – the death of her parents, a miscarriage, the disappearance of Harrell's wife Graciela - Josie would curl against his body, silent, her fingers gripping his shoulder so tightly they would leave bruises on his skin. She would sit there for a long while and then she would stand, shoulders square, eyes clear and do what needed to be done.

The tears would come much, much later.

Johann knew he had married an incredibly strong woman, but Josie had never had to deal with the fact that someone was trying to kill her - had, if Shannon was right, already killed many times before. She would take a moment and try to move forward, but it wouldn't be enough.

As he held her, Careese fought the need to crush her against his body, to hold her as tightly as she was holding him. He had never had a threat against someone he loved – he knew he had to keep his own anger and fear under control, reminding himself that their children were safe and that Josie was with him.

He felt her fingers slowly relax. Josie lifted her head, ran those same fingers along his face, then stood and moved back to her own seat. "I want to see the names of the people who were murdered again."

Careese hesitated, then handed her his tablet, watching her closely. Her hands shook slightly as she took it from him.

"Jos…"

"I'm _fine_, Johann," she snapped, then her voice softened. "I'm sorry." She ran her hand slowly over the screen and he knew that she was memorizing the names of the people she didn't know. "All these people…if they were truly murdered…"

"Jos, look at me."

"Their families…how…how could someone _do_ this - "

"Josephine." He laid his large hand on the tablet, covering the screen. "Shannon will catch him."

Her dark eyes searched his. "You…really believe that."

"I do." He didn't add that he had taken his own steps to finding out who the killer was.

She gave him a weak smile. "This must be serious – I think it's the first time in sixteen years you two have agreed on anything." Her fingers twined in his. "It's hard to believe that someone from Careese Industries is behind this."

The pilot announced they were beginning their descent to a private airport just outside Baltimore. From there they would transfer to another plane for the trip to the island.

Josie raised an eyebrow. "An island getaway for our anniversary. You did say that you thought the opera would be deadly."

"_Dull_. I said it would be deadly dull."

As they gathered their things, Johann thought that the pilot's interruption had kept him from lying outright to Josie. He was certain that the killings had nothing to do with Careese Industries, in fact had nothing to do with him.

These killings had everything to do with Josephine.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX X

_Sixteen years ago_

_Johann noticed that one curtain in the row of open windows on the house next door suddenly stopped moving as he pulled his sleek black Porsche to the curb. Automatically he calculated the distance, angle and trajectory of the threat as he stepped smoothly out of the vehicle._

_It was Gloria Angelis, broker of intrigue and innuendo in Ashbow. In his past life, the dangers were very clear and usually at the point of a gun, but here among the cul-de-sacs and strip malls, the dangers were more subtle and the weapons used were smiles and whispers. _

_In this world, Gloria Angelis was a deadly assassin. _

_He stood directly in her line of vision and waved. The curtain rippled and a crash told him that Mrs. Angelis had jostled a side table, probably knocking over some bric-a-brac as she hastily backed away from the window. _

_Johann smiled softly. He was getting better at shooting back._

_Mrs. Angelis', and indeed, all the homes on this street were the same design – modest, two story frame houses with generous front porches, detached two car garages and narrow deep yards. In a quest to differentiate their home from all the others, owners had applied paint, added shutters, built additions and enclosed porches, but their efforts only succeeded in showing how much the houses were alike. _

_The home he was visiting today had made none of these changes. Meticulously maintained, it was painted the same simple white with black trim chosen by the original builder decades ago._

_It was the most beautiful house on the street. _

_What helped set this home apart from all the others were the plants. They trailed along the front steps, cascaded down hanging baskets on the porch, spilled out of second floor window boxes, arched over the narrow driveway leading to the back yard. Every color, shape and size was represented, and even Johann, who freely admitted that he had a 'fire bad, flowers pretty' knowledge of horticulture, knew that these plants were special._

_He recognized the eternal dance between a husband and wife, grass edged with military precision battling with encroaching shrubs, neatly raked gravel paths dotted with bright curling petals and lush blossoms boldly displaying their charms by sinuously dancing in front of sparkling clean windows. _

_As he walked down the driveway, Careese saw the accommodations made to the multiple generations in this home – a seam in the concrete where an extra parking space had been poured, a swing set along the fence, a small greenhouse with bright pink gloves draped over the door handle and a satellite dish painted the Oklahoma University colors of crimson and cream, silent sentry on the roof of the garage, where he suspected the man he had come to see today took refuge from his busy family._

"_Need a hand?"_

_Paul Bennett was in the far corner of the yard wrestling with an old garden trellis, which had collapsed under the weight of thick, heavy vines. "Actually, I could use two."_

_Johann removed his suit jacket, laid it on the picnic table and rolled up his sleeves. _

_Josie's father was tall, solidly built with light brown skin and wavy salt and pepper hair. His movements were spare and economical, while his voice was rich and melodious, denoting his many years as a high school history teacher before he became an administrator. _

"_This was one of my first efforts – I really didn't know what I was doing. It's been laboring under the weight of this wisteria for years. My wife kept telling me to replace it, but I kept putting it off, even after I built the new trellis." His eyes twinkled. "Fortunately, it collapsed _after_ she left to conduct a day long plant propagation workshop, so I can dazzle her this evening with how proactive I was."_

_Johann quirked an eyebrow at him. "You think she'll fall for that?"_

"_No...but a man can dream. Hand me that drill, please." _

_As they took down the old trellis and put up the new one, Johann knew that the older man was using his gentle patter to study him, cataloging the contrasts between beautifully tailored clothes and scarred forearms, a soft voice while sharp eyes surveyed his surroundings and an almost indolent stillness versus lightning fast reflexes when without looking, Johann caught a shower of washers that Josie's father spilled. They had met at the groundbreaking ceremony for the factory, and exchanged pleasantries at several other events, but other than that had not really spoken._

"_My daughter and grandson are attending a special birthday party today…little boy wandered away from home last fall. Josie found him just before a storm blew in, thank God."_

"_Josie says you practically raised her outdoors."_

_Bennett smiled. "Josie can hunt and fish with the best of them, but her skills as a tracker are exemplary…she's done a lot of volunteer work for the Sheriff's department over the years."_

"_She never considered law enforcement?"_

"_Will – Sheriff Shannon – thought she had a future there, but Josie has always seen the good in people. Even in her most wrenching work, there's hope… that we can do better…be better...help each other." Bennett suddenly tilted his head in a way that was so reminiscent of his daughter, Johann smiled. "Is that why you chose her to interview you, because you thought she wouldn't portray you as some rapacious robber baron?"_

"_Josie was the best reporter in three counties, and if you recall, she didn't go easy on me." _

_She _was_ the best reporter in three counties, but that was not the only reason Johann had selected her to interview him._

_Bennett laughed. "She was tough."_

"_But fair." _

_The two men nodded at each other, then continued to work._

_Finally Bennett stood back with a satisfied look on his face. "It looks good – thanks for the help." He extended his arm towards an arbor where an old bench stood, sheltered from the sun and also Johann noted, out of sight of the house next door. "Have a seat. I think we both deserve an adult beverage." The older man slipped into the garage and Johann heard the sound of a refrigerator door opening and closing - as suspected, Paul Bennett had created a private space for himself. _

_Careese sat down on the bench, his fingers tracing carvings in the old wood – it was covered with names and dates. Paul emerged from the garage with beers and the smell of something deliciously unhealthy wafting from an earthenware bowl. "Every family member's name and the year of their birth going back over one hundred years are carved in this bench." He sat down, handing Careese a beer, while he set the bowl of homemade potato chips between them. "It's too long, heavy as hell and ugly as sin, but one day my grandson will be complaining about this bench in _his_ backyard."_

"_Now," the older man popped a chip in his mouth, "while I appreciate the assistance, there's a reason why you chose to stop by when the rest of my family is out. I assume this is about Josephine."_

_Johann knew his coming here was incredibly old fashioned – _'Old fashioned?,'_ he imagined Harrell Wren's arch voice. _'Paternalistic, anachronistic and almost certainly insulting, Mr. Careese. Are you planning on offering her father a prize bull in exchange, as well? Or is your stud service for his daughter enough?'_ – but it was important for him to let Josie's father know that his intentions, as halting and uncertain they might be, were sincere. _

"_I'd like to get to know your daughter better."_

"_There are those who would say," Bennett's eyes flicked towards the Angelis residence, "that you already know my daughter quite well."_

_Rumors had exploded about their relationship since the news conference. While many were humorous, hopeful or unabashedly romantic, there were also those that were vapid, cruel or downright vicious. At first most of the negative rumors were about him, but as the weeks went on, the rumors focused more on Josie - the current one was that she planned to leave Ashbow – and her son – and traipse off to New York with him, once the factory was up and running._

"_Josie and I are friends – nothing more."_

_Johann faced the steely gaze that had stared down angry parents, rebellious students and meddling school board members as the principal of Ashbow High. After a long moment, Paul Bennett leaned back, sipping his beer. "You're the third man to talk to me about Josie. First one was years ago. Josie was spirited and strong willed, but never disagreeable or wild. We got through high school and her mother and I thought we were home free – we should have known better. She met him the summer before her freshman year at college. It was as though she had a checklist of everything that would drive us crazy and that young man filled all the boxes and then some." _

_Bennett shook his head, laughing. "He told me that Josie was Jim Beckwourth** in a centerfold's body – I'm not sure what was more frightening, the fact that he put those two images together or that he thought he'd earn points by sharing it with me. Wasn't a bad sort, just didn't have a lot of common sense. Fortunately, he didn't last long." Bennett slipped back into the garage, emerging a few minutes later with a platter of sliced pepperoni. "The second man was David Cotter."_

"_I'm guessing he had a little more common sense." _

_Bennett chuckled, nodding. "He was smart, like you. Listened, let me ramble on - even after they were married. Will Shannon introduced them - we've been friends since before we could walk, best man at each others weddings. Once a week we have dinner at his home with his wife Lily. There was his new deputy, fresh out of the state police academy. He was staying with them until he found a place to live. It started there." His voice softened as he looked out into the yard. "They were good together." _

_Johann sat quietly, letting the older man compose himself. Finally, Bennett turned his face to look at him, a soft smile on his lips, his eyes a mixture of sadness, gratitude and Careese also saw, appraisal. Gesturing towards a name in the center of the bench with a chip, he said, "Let me tell you the story of the first name on the bench, Asa – he didn't know the exact year of his birth, so his date is the year he came to Ashbow. After the Civil War, freemen left the South looking for a better life..."_

_When Johann stood up to leave some time later, Bennett tilted his head again in that way so similar to Josie. "Are you planning on telling Josie what we talked about?"_

_Careese raised an eyebrow. "You saying I shouldn't?"_

_Bennett shrugged. "I would never say that...she'll know that you were here. With Bennett women, you're better off telling the truth and getting the yelling over right away, but I suspect you know that already. Good luck."_

"_You, too." He smiled at Bennett's quizzical expression. "The trellis."_

_Bennett laughed. The two men shook hands._

_As Johann walked away, he knew that telling Josie the truth about why he visited her father today would be easy. Telling her the truth about everything else would be hard. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Unfolding his long frame, Careese stood and walked over to the other side of the jet. Seats had been removed and a bank of windows had been installed, forming an observation deck of sorts. Johann stood by the windows, feeling the sun warm his skin as he gazed out the floor to ceiling windows. The sky and sea formed an endless expanse of blue, punctuated only by a cluster of clouds floating lazily along the horizon.

The plan for catching the killer that Will Shannon had outlined for him last night was bullshit – the skills, organization and resources displayed by the Sheriff's mysterious New York benefactor pointed to a much more ambitious scheme – but Johann had learned, painfully, over many years, when to fight his battles. Getting Shannon to agree to his condition for cooperating was a critical concession on the older man's part - he would find out what he needed to know by other means. The team of key assets, or mutual friends, as Harrell referred to them, was already providing assistance.

Josie had gone into the jet's bedroom to change into clothes more suitable for the beach than the city. As Careese stood alone by the windows, a wave of guilt threatened to overtake him. These murders had been happening for more than a decade, how could he not have known, not even suspected?

Johann had spent a large portion of his life finding and eliminating threats, yet this person had been living among them undetected for all this time, had targeted innocent people, had followed them, probably for months, waiting until the perfect time to strike.

And if he was right about these killings being connected to Josephine, this man had spent time in her presence, spoken to her, perhaps even touched her.

Careese understood the nature of obsession. He had wanted Josie from the moment he saw her, had found out everything about her, had tracked her movements at times, had manipulated their first face-to-face meeting, had totally changed his life, and Harrell's too, if he was being honest, to be with her. His desire, his need for Josie was so strong, it was often overwhelming. If there was anyone who should have recognized this man amongst them, it should have been him.

Johann turned as Josie walked back into the main cabin area. He held out his hand to her and she slid under his arm, twining her left hand in his. She leaned against his chest and he kissed her hair as they watched the clouds float across the horizon.

He firmly pushed the guilt down. Like his wife's tears, he would deal with that much, much later.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sugar's is the best bakery in this part of Oklahoma. While everything they make is wonderful, it's their doughnuts that make the place famous. Customers drive for hundreds of miles for the delicate treats with their signature cream filling. The doughnuts are placed in special brown paper bags that were perforated on one corner to make getting at them easier.

Her competitors have tried for decades to duplicate the recipe, to no avail. When asked what her secret is, eighty year old Sugar, still feisty and robust after decades of working sixteen hour days, six days a week, laughs and says, "No secrets, darlin', only love, only sweet, sweet love!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Sixteen years ago_

_Johann leaned against his car as he watched Josie walk across an open field. She had just interviewed members of The Amazons, a group of breast cancer survivors who practiced Tai Chi in the early morning hours at sites around Ashbow County. As always, her stride was strong, quick and determined, legs impossibly long despite her petite stature. The sun was rising and the warm rays kissed her skin making it glow in the early morning light. While he could see her through the thick copse of trees surrounding the field, he knew that at the angle of her approach, she couldn't see him. _

_As Josie stepped through the trees, she raised one of those perfectly arched eyebrows, folding her arms as she stood in front of him. "I learned a long ago not to take candy from strangers."_

_Rich scents of cinnamon, chocolate and vanilla wafted from a brown paper bag. "You know this is much better than candy, Ms. Cotter."_

_He tore the paper open. Four doughnuts topped with white icing and red and blue sprinkles lay at the bottom of the bag. _

"_I even brought coffee." He tilted his head towards two containers on the hood of his car. _

_Josie's face was dewy and makeup free, her hair in a long braid that hugged the valley between her breasts. Not for the first time, Johann wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through those thick raven locks, to bury his face in them, to see them splayed across a pillow as he held her in his arms. _

"_They're fresh, still warm from the oven." He held one out to her._

"_I'm not hungry." Her stomach growled. Josie snatched the doughnut out of his hand. _

_Taking a bite, she closed her eyes for a moment, sighing with pleasure. As Josie continued eating, a dollop of filling landed on her upper lip. Johann almost groaned aloud at the sight of the creamy whiteness on her lush mouth. Josie darted out her tongue to lick it off, realized his eyes were focused on her lips. She wiped off the filling with the back of her fingers. As Josie lowered her hand, she checked the day on her watch. "Sugar's isn't open today. How -"_

_Careese smirked. _

_A smile stole across Josie's lips, then she shook her head. "I'm not even going to ask."_

"_That's a first." _

_She gave him the half glare, half smile look he had grown to love, then finished the doughnut. Josie's face was now serious, almost wary. "So…"_

_He laid the bag on the hood of his car, stood up and moved close to her. "So…" _

"_I guess one of your staffers can't ask what you're going to ask me."_

"_No, they couldn't."_

_Josie lowered her head, looked away from him. "Johann…"_

_She knew he had spent the afternoon with her father. She knew what he wanted to ask her. He waited for her to say she wasn't ready, that she just wanted to be friends, that she cared for someone else. _

_Whatever she was going to say, he knew that she would be honest, direct and what would be most painful, kind. _

_When Josie finally raised her head, her eyes were huge dark pools. She gave him a curt little nod. _

"_Yeah?"_

"_Yeah," she nodded again._

_He closed the distance between them, so close that their bodies were almost touching. Cradling her head in his large hands, Careese ran his thumbs slowly back and forth over her cheekbones, savoring her soft, silky skin._

"_I still won't go easy on you," she whispered._

"_I'd be disappointed if you did."_

_His lips barely touched hers, as soft and light as an early summer breeze._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Children.

Children are what convinced Careese that these murders were connected to Josephine.

He had dismissed right away that the murderer was someone from his past – they would have struck hard and fast and even the most cunning killers wouldn't have taken over a decade to exact their revenge. The couples who were murdered didn't know each other and weren't linked to specific Careese Industries initiatives, so conspiracy and industrial espionage were out. Neither he or Josie were close to any of the couples and while Shannon's discovery that the killer was working his way through the company hierarchy was a key clue pointing to a serial killer, Johann felt that this was more of a quirk on the killer's part, part of the game.

No, children, or more importantly, the lack of children, was the key.

It was a fact of life that every year in a company with over 100 thousand employees and thousands of associated contractors, people died. Illness claimed most of those who passed on, while accidents and disasters took the rest. Individual employees, couples and even whole families had passed away. Death did not discriminate – it took everyone, whether they had children or not, yet all of the couples who were murdered were childless.

Johann knew it was a smart move on the killer's part – easier to pass off these murders as accidents if there wasn't a child left behind, someone that needed to be taken care of and provided for. There were no reminders in a smile or promises that needed to be fulfilled. Anyone they did leave behind – relatives, friends – would be focused on the past.

The first couple was killed right after Hunter was born, another couple had died just before the twins' arrival – skilled scene stealers before they were born, Marin and Amina had delayed their birth as long as possible and arrived on Leap Day - and a third murder happened the week when the child they had lost in the wake of the grief, terror and devastation of the tornado ten years ago, should have been born.

Their marriage might have stoked the killer's anger, but it was Hunter's birth that was the catalyst for murder. His rage would have grown as Josie's body bloomed with new life, as whatever fantasies he had of making her his own were dashed, as he realized he would never lie with her, never make love to her, never plant his seed within her body.

His ultimate revenge would be not just to kill Josie, but to leave her children motherless, to force them to grow up without her. Her absence would make every occasion, every triumph, every milestone less than what it could be, because she wasn't there.

He would kill them a little bit, every time they thought about her, for the rest of their lives.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Sixteen years ago_

_They say that every era has some element of style that defines them. Until tonight, Johann would have said the 1950s were defined by tailfins, crew cuts and saddle shoes._

_Then he saw Josie's dress._

"_Surprised?," she smirked, as she walked down the porch steps._

_He gaped at her, speechless._

_Butter yellow, the vintage halter dress emphasized everything that was glorious about a woman's body, showcasing Josie's graceful shoulders, lush breasts, tiny waist and curvaceous hips. The full skirt swirled around Josie's legs as she swung them in the car, a frothy petticoat tickling her smooth limbs. A gauzy wrap was around her shoulders and her hair was held back in a loose ponytail by a matching yellow ribbon, the thick raven locks wafting in the breeze as he drove his convertible out of town. _

_She was stunning, absolutely stunning and Johann had to keep reminding himself to keep his eyes on the road. _

_Tonight was the first time that he and Josie would be stepping out as an official couple. Newly elected DA Adam Bourdeau was hosting a barbeque thanking his supporters and most of the county's movers and shakers were in attendance. ADA Bourdeau had been appointed interim DA in the wake of the resignation of several corrupt officials with the demise of Keller and Lawson; a special election had been called and Bourdeau, respected for his honesty and tireless efforts to try to bring down their criminal empire, had won handily. _

_As they entered the pavilion, Careese's eyes quickly surveyed the space, looking for any threats. He was still not comfortable in what Harrell referred to as impolite society, the veil of gentility that so-called normal people put over their true motivations and desires. Several of his staffers were in attendance and he was pleased to see that they were slowly integrating themselves into the fabric of life here – they might always be referred to as newcomers, but they were starting to fit in._

_Josie whispered, "Relax, Shep."_

_Careese raised an eyebrow. "Shep?"_

"_You watch people unlike anyone I've ever seen – sometimes like you're the shepherd, other times like you're the wolf. I guess it's a holdover from your military days." Her eyes scanned his as if she knew, or sensed more than she was saying. "Or maybe," she tilted her head, "you're just a cranky old sheep dog."_

_His teeth flashed. "Careful – I might nip you."_

_Josie's lips twitched as she moved ahead of him to shake Bourdeau's hand. _

_Johann exchanged a brief glance with Sheriff Shannon as Bourdeau spoke to Josie. He knew that that the older man would have preferred Bourdeau for her, a sentiment the tall, handsome attorney clearly shared by the way he held Josie's hand just a little too long. _

_Careese wondered if Shannon would still feel the same way if the Sheriff knew that Bourdeau was one of the assets recruited months ago._

"_Relieved that I didn't bite anyone tonight, Ms. Cotter?," Johann teased as they walked out of the pavilion several hours later._

"_You growled a few times, but I can't blame you. The mayor did go on about that 'fantastic investment opportunity'," Josie smiled. "It's such a beautiful evening. Let's go for a drive."_

_A sign said 'Dangerous Curves Ahead' as Johann's Porsche climbed the steep hill on the outskirts of Ashbow County; Careese smiled to himself; he could handle them - he wasn't so sure about the dangerous curves in the seat next to him. _

"_Take a right," Josie said. "There's a gap here." _

_Johann followed Josie's directions, weaving between several piles of debris, then easing his car through a break in an old fence, rolling down a narrow, cracked driveway. He smiled as they reached a circular parking area. "You can see the whole valley from here."_

_They were at the highest point in the county. In the moonlight, the Ashbow River and its tributaries stretched like a silver skein through the valley. Construction of the factory was proceeding around the clock and the bright lights highlighted the hills behind it. In the distance they could see Ashbow itself and the surrounding smaller towns twinkling in the darkness._

_Josie nodded, her gold hoops gleaming dully in the moonlight – he thought diamonds, she should wear diamonds. "This is what the mayor was talking about. Years ago an entrepreneur wanted to build a resort here. Got a lot of people to invest. Not only did he run off with their money, but he also sold the property to six different development companies. The land has been in limbo ever since."_

"_It's beautiful."_

"_I like to come up here to think. My grandparents lived near here - when I was a kid, I'd hike up the hill to this spot. It was like the whole world was right in front of me – like I could just fly off this hill and go anywhere."_

"_Did you ever think about leaving Ashbow, Josie?"_

"_You mean aside from what Mrs. Angelis was telling everybody tonight?" Josie chuckled. "If you think she's bad now, you should have heard the rumors she spread when I ran for Homecoming Queen."_

"_I heard you won."_

_Josie's eyes glinted. "Beat her daughter Maxime, too." _

_As she turned her head to look out the windshield, a lock of hair slowly traced her left collarbone and Careese imagined his tongue doing the same. "Did I ever think about leaving Ashbow? All the time, when I was in high school – I was going to be a globe-trotting journalist, or work for a glamorous magazine in some big city, but I was only serious about it once." Her voice lowered. "After my husband David was murdered. I interviewed for a position with a paper in Kansas City – got the job, was going to take Tyler and share a house with a divorced college classmate of mine and her daughter."_

"_What made you change your mind?"_

"_A big part of it was not taking Tyler away from his grandparents, but I also realized… that David died protecting the people here. If we left, it would be like his sacrifice meant nothing, that… I thought the people he died for meant nothing." Josie turned towards him, leaning forward and Johann sensed that she had not shared this with anyone before. "I've lived here my entire life and my family has been here since the Civil War - even though I knew a lot about Ashbow County, I don't know if I really truly, _felt_ it here," she tapped her chest. "When I decided to stay, that's when I really started to learn about how special this place really is…I know that most people think their hometown is different, but there is something about this place, warts and all."_

_He touched her hand. "And ultimately that led to your column." _

"_As much as people say I've helped them, they've helped me even more." Josie smiled softly. "Let's keep driving."_

_They drove everywhere and nowhere, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather, the moonlight playing patterns of light and dark on the landscape, the purr of the Porsche's engine, but finally, reluctantly, Johann pulled in front of her parents' home. The street was deserted; the houses dark and silent, only the Bennett house still had a porch light on._

_As Careese opened the passenger door for Josie, she slipped past him and ran off into the park across the street. Johann stood there for a moment, stunned, and then he took off at a slow trot after her. The full moon, heavy and golden in the sky, made her yellow dress shimmer under its glow, the full skirt swirling around her impossibly long legs, her footsteps almost soundless despite her high heels. _

_He caught up with her, grabbing her hand lightly, not wanting to catch her, not yet, and she pulled away, running deeper into the park. He followed her, realizing he was laughing, for the first time in a long time._

_Finally she reached the center of the park and then she stopped, the lights around a fountain casting a soft glow over her body, waiting as he walked slowly towards her. _

_This was different, for both of them, and they knew it._

_Johann took her hand again, and she didn't pull it away. He drew his thumb over the inside of her wrist and she sighed, leaning slightly towards him as he ran his hand slowly up her bare arm, then across her shoulder, curling the end of her_ _hair ribbon around his fingers. Johann pulled the ribbon from her hair, watching those glorious dark waves finally fall free, spilling halfway down her back as he took her in his arms. _

_Her small hands touched his chest, the fingers first splaying out across his pectoral muscles and then funneling up alongside the tie that Harrell insisted he wear, the tie he'd been dying to take off all evening. Josie loosened the knot and opened the top button of his shirt, her fingers grazing his throat, causing him to shudder at her touch. She slid her arms around his neck, and then she lifted her head, eyes shining in the darkness. _

_They began kissing softly, gently, but their lips would not be denied, greedily feasting on each other until they were struggling for air, but they refused to be parted, for even a moment, to take a breath. Josie rose up on her toes and as her body pressed against his, she suddenly cried out, breaking the kiss and pushing away from him, but he grabbed her hand, and slowly pulled her back into his arms, holding her as her breathing slowed, realizing that _he_ was trembling, not her, at the force of her reaction to him, at the knowledge that she wanted him as much as he wanted her._

_Josie whispered, "Have you ever made love, Johann? You've fucked, had sex, maybe even played house a little, but have you ever made love?" _

_He was silent; she already knew the answer, that he had been with many women, some good, some bad, some he truly cared about, others whose faces he could barely remember. He had done many things with them, but he had never made love in the way she talked about, the way he knew it would be with her, that barely touching her tonight was just a hint as to how it would be when they were truly together._

_She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye. "When you and I come together – and we _will_ be together, Johann Careese – we'll make love to each other."_

_He nodded - not tonight, but they would both know when the moment was right, when they would completely give everything, not just their bodies, to each other._

_Josie took the ribbon from his hand, fixed her hair. They walked back slowly thorough the park, fingers entwined, secure in a promise made. _

_He stood on the sidewalk, she stood on the front porch steps, her face even with his. "Good night, Johnny." Her kiss was soft and she slipped inside her parents' home. _

_Johann was several miles away when he realized she had left her wrap in the car. He turned around, drove back to her house, mounted the porch to leave her wrap on one of the chairs._

"_If you're planning on throwing pebbles at her window, it's the one on the upper left." Paul Bennett walked out of the house, taking the wrap out of Johann's hand. _

"_I'll keep that in mind," Careese smiled._

_The older man gave him that appraising look again. "She likes you."_

"_I like her – a lot."_

_Bennett nodded, squeezed Johann's shoulder and went back inside._

_As Careese drove away, he realized what Josie had called him._

_Johnny._

_No one had ever called him that before – not even when he was a child. _

_And all these years later, she only called him Johnny when they were alone, and never in anger._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

"How's it's going, Wren? Everything ok?"

"Aside from your children running me ragged, yes, Mr. Careese. I don't remember Tyler being like this."

"You were much, much younger then, Harrell," Johann smiled. He refrained from asking for details of their trip to Science Museum Oklahoma, so that he would be properly engaged when he and Josie called Hunter and the twins later this afternoon.

Careese had jogged to the other end of the island, near the landing strip, before calling Harrell Wren on a secure phone. Harrell Wren's technical wizardry had allowed him to bypass the transmission blocking mechanisms that blanketed not just the island, but anything within fifty miles of it according to the island's caretaker, discouraging any wayward sailor from approaching the place.

He knew that the caretaker was explaining the flora and flora of the island to Josie back at the villa and that she was safe. A separate message from the young woman guarding Tyler had let him know that his oldest son was in the midst of defending his paper in front of dozens of people at the symposium and would be fully engaged for the rest of the day.

"I prefer to think that the ratio of three against one is the culprit, not my advanced age." Wren retorted. Briefly Johann's friend and partner gave him a status on the search to unmask the killer. As expected, he had covered his tracks well. Neither Leo Tao, DA Bourdeau, or Careese's head of security, Lyle N.L. Fusco, had uncovered anything unusual. "There are a number of people who took connecting flights to the New York City area this morning that I'm following up on."

One issue that the team faced was that the population of Ashbow County had increased almost tenfold with the advent of the factory and supporting business and travel had increased accordingly. The killer could have gone to any number of large cities in the six states surrounding Oklahoma and then made a connection from there. Shannon and his contact in New York had already cleared anyone who traveled to the city area within the previous 72 hours, assuming that the killer would want to keep close tabs on the Careeses' movements, in case he needed to alter his plans. Harrell and the team agreed with their assessment.

"However, Ms. Morgan might have found something regarding your suggestion, Mr. Careese, on unconventional ways to travel from Ashbow County." Johann was well aware that there were a variety of ways to move about undetected, several of which he had used when he was scouting possible locations for his work with Harrell all those years ago.

Zooey Morgan had to the surprise of many, remained in Ashbow County after her husband's death. She dropped the name Keller and established a foundation to help the hill people victimized by her husband – a foundation funded with the money Leo Tao had uncovered and drained from his secret bank accounts. While there were many who would never accept her, Zooey did good work, in no small part because she maintained connections to the county's less savory elements.

"One of her contacts has been trying to track down a pilot, Ricky Hansen. He was supposed to check in today and confirm his availability for a pick up next week. Apparently Mr. Hansen has several female friends who are clients of Ms. Morgan and her contact wanted to know if Mr. Hansen was spending time with one of them and neglecting his responsibilities."

"Sure he's not enjoying someone else's charms, Harrell?"

"It's highly probable, of course, but Ms. Morgan is following up."

"Keep me posted."

"Of course, Mr. Careese…" Harrell's voice was hesitant. "How…is Josephine?"

Johann knew that his friend was still reeling from the disappearance of his wife, Graciela, two years ago. Despite spending huge amounts of money and considerable resources, they had not been able to find a trace of her.

"She's good, Harrell," Johann replied softly.

"Please keep her safe, Johann."

"Always, Harrell, always."

A/N: Next, the gala – Joss goes undercover, Reese causes indigestion, Finch proves that he can see and The Machine finally makes an appearance.

*Ursus is Latin for bear, Artkos' predecessor.

**Jim Beckwourth (1798-1866) was a famous African American mountain man, fur trader and explorer. Beckwourth Pass and the Beckwourth Trail, which thousands of settlers used to travel to California, is named after him.

blacktop has posted 39 stories – the color yellow is featured in several, especially The Most Beautiful Dress in the World, a tale about the first time Reese and Carter make love.

Maddsgirl75 has posted eight stories, including Cars and Their Secrets, a tale inspired by how much time Carter and Reese spend in cars.


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